


Dissendium

by HollyShadow88



Series: Happiness Can Be Found [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade, Minor Mycroft Holmes/James Sholto, Parentlock, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Potterlock, Slow Burn, Wizard John, Wizard Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8722390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyShadow88/pseuds/HollyShadow88
Summary: Sequel to Finite Incantatem, written and completed during NaNoWriMo 2016.  John and his daughter, Cecelia, have finally returned to Sherlock and Baker Street.  Amidst attempting to figure out their relationship, Sherlock and John deal with Sherlock's magic, John's wizarding past, and a secret that's been in Sherlock's family since his birth.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> WE'RE FINALLY BACK Y'ALL. Much like the show itself, I've returned two years later with a brand new story in my potterlock universe and a Masters in Creative Writing under my belt. As you can see from the rating, I'm trying something new and giving sex a try. We'll see how that goes in the future. This time around, I've got a beta in my amazing former flatmate, [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989)

-Four Weeks Later-

 John adjusted Cecelia’s car seat in the back of the rented vehicle while the driver put the last bag into the boot.  Cecelia babbled up at him from his chest, her tiny hands darting out to grasp at the buckles in a bid to help him.  He chuckled and moved around her, eventually getting the overly complicated piece attached properly.  He transferred her from her star dotted wrap to the seat with equal difficulty, Cecelia fighting to climb out and further into the van and chastising him with nonsensical noises the entire time.  He was barely able to snatch her up by the back of her lavender jacket before she tumbled to the floor, the driver who now sat in his position in the front laughing under his breath at John’s struggles.

“Need any help with that, mate?” the man asked, raising an amused brow as John tried to get Cecelia’s feet to stop thrashing at him long enough for him to buckle her in.  He sat partially leaning into the back, an arm draped over the passenger seat to observe John at work.  Finally getting her to stop for a moment by distracting her with a small crocheted bee plush Sherlock had given them before she was born, he got all the parts into their appropriate places and tightened them.  Giving her knee a quick pat, John nodded and moved around to the other side to sit in the seat beside her.

“Sorry, we’re not quite used to all this,” John explained, waving his hands between the vehicle and the car seat in turn.  “Usually stick to walking and the pram, honestly.  We’re a bit out of practice.”

The driver smiled and turned back around, starting the engine and setting them off before glancing at John in the rearview mirror.  “Mum busy today, then?  Can’t help you with the little one and the big move?”

John’s brows furrowed and he glanced over at Cecelia, who was watching the other cars drive past them in fascination.  “Ah, no, actually.  Widower.  Just the two of us for now.  Right at this moment, I mean.  It’s complicated.”

“Jesus, sorry about that, shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.  Now I feel like a right tit.”

“No, it’s fine.”  John felt his mobile buzz in his coat pocket and grinned.  “Really, it’s more okay than it probably ought to be.  The whole thing was on its way out anyway.”  As the driver nodded in reply, John pulled the mobile out and flipped through to the new text.

**How much longer? SH**

Cecelia let out a disgruntled squeak and pounded a fist on the plastic arm of her car seat, demanding John’s attention.  From his other pocket, he grabbed a plastic container of her favourite cereal, snapping the lid off and setting it on the seat beside him.  With one eye on Cecelia and one on his mobile, he held the snack out close enough for her to reach it while simultaneously typing out a slow response.

**On our way now.  Car seats are hell, did you know?  Better off taking her on the tube, she prefers it anyway.**

He heard a soft ping and looked up.  Rather than eating her snack, Cecelia had taken to throwing the pieces as hard as she could toward the front of the car, some of them even making it into the front seat.  The noise that had pulled his attention away from Sherlock was one of them bouncing off the centre console. 

“Oi, none of that,” he chided quietly as he started to collect the cereal he could reach and stuff it into his pocket.  She tried to reach for the container but John held it out of the way, raising his eyebrows at her.  “Nope, you’ll not get any if all you’re going to do is throw them about.  I’m not going to spend the whole ride cleaning up Cheerios after you.”

She turned her enormous blue eyes on him and he watched as they started to fill with tears.  Letting out a groan and hoping their driver would be forgiving, John braced himself as Cecelia let out an enormous shriek and began sobbing at the top of her lungs.  She had always been a fairly calm and happy baby, but in the weeks since Mary died, John did notice the tantrums happening more often.  He knew it was a result of missing her mum and not understanding what happened, but she was simply too young to comprehend any of it.  All John could do was deal with them when they happened and hope that eventually she would come to accept having only him for a parent.

John dropped his mobile into his lap as he attempted to soothe Cecelia and therefore could tell that Sherlock continued to message him from the various vibrations coming from the area of his midsection and groin.  After close to ten minutes of hushing noises, soothing caresses, and reenactments of stories starring her bee, Cecelia finally let out a single dramatic sniffle and went quiet.  John heaved a sigh of relief and let his head fall against the side of her seat with a dull thump while another buzz echoed from the vicinity of his left thigh.

“Alright back there?” the driver asked, his voice shockingly perky given the screaming they both had endured in such small quarters.  Cecelia whimpered and John reached out a hand so she could grasp at his finger, holding it in a vice grip more akin to Sherlock’s than a baby’s.  He curled his thumb around her wrist while taking up his mobile once more.

“Just grand,” he muttered at the driver before returning his attention to Sherlock.  He gaped down at the screen, barely believing the fact that it read twelve new messages.

**Tube, awful.  We must get her accustomed to cabs.  SH**

**I cannot believe you took her on the tube, John.  It’s absolutely filthy, she could have gotten sick.  SH**

**How much longer will you be?  Should I wait downstairs?  SH**

**Mrs Hudson wants me to inform you that she’s thrilled to see you.  SH**

**I don’t have anything edible in the flat, will you be long enough for me to go to the shops to get things for Cecelia?  SH**

**Nevermind, I do.  SH**

**Milk’s off, however.  SH**

**John?  Why aren’t you answering?  SH**

**John?  SH**

**If you don’t respond, I’m going to call and you know how I detest calling.  SH**

**John really this is your last warning SH**

**I’m calling**

By the time John finished reading the final message, the mobile began buzzing in his hand with a call, Sherlock’s picture popping up in the middle of the screen.  Grinning to himself, John swiped to answer.

“I was dealing with a tantrum, you mad git, everything’s fine,” he said, waggling his fingers and letting Cecelia chase them to amuse her.  She giggled once, loud enough to make John wince, and snatched at them with fervour.

“Oh,” Sherlock replied from the other end.  His breath rustled over the line as though he was pacing and John could sense his nervousness in his stilted words.  “Of course.  Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”  They both fell silent, John watching Cecelia and Sherlock continuing to pace.  “Sherlock, you okay?”

"Fine,” he answered, the word coming too quickly.  John waited and Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath.  “I’m fine.  Just…anxious for you both to arrive.”

“Me too.”  He looked down at Cecelia, who had returned to her perusal out the window.  “We both are.  It’s time for us to come back.”  The van started to slow and John turned to glance out his own window.  “In fact, we’ve just arrived.

They stopped in front of Speedy’s, the driver immediately jumping out to start pulling their things out and stack them on the pavement.  John shoved his mobile away with haste and turned his full attention to Cecelia, working to unstrap her from the car seat once more.  She grumbled and pushed at his hands, fighting to wiggle away even when she sat securely back in her wrap.  John frowned down at her shifting head, ducking back just as she swung forward and almost knocked into his chin, and hoped that after a nap she would settle.  She had accidentally slept over at Baker Street in the past, but this would be the first time she officially lived anywhere but the flat he’d shared with Mary.  She seemed to do well when they had visited Hogwarts almost a month ago and always appeared at home in 221b, so John expected all would go well.  There was always room for niggling doubt, however.

Eventually he got the car seat out, mostly by yanking it out behind him rather than following any set of official directions.  He heard a tiny burst of laughter and turned to grin up at Sherlock, who stood in the open door to 221.

“Having difficulties?” he asked, leaning a shoulder into the doorframe and crossing his legs at the ankles.  Laughter lines crinkled the corners of his eyes as he stared across at them.  Sherlock spotted one of Cecelia’s arms waving in irritation, a small fist attempting to pound into the edge of her wrap, and his eyes lit up.  The smirk at the side of his mouth turned into a full smile as he rushed forward and snatched her up.  Her gloom instantly vanished as soon as she was in Sherlock’s arms and she latched onto his silk shirt.  The two watched each other with glee and John felt warmth settle in his belly, the sensation like a bright fire burning warm after walking through a storm.

John moved to help the driver with the last of their bags, thanking him and sending him on his way with his payment.  Soon he and Sherlock stood alone on the fairly quiet midmorning street surrounded by luggage.  Sherlock rocked Cecelia absentmindedly and glanced around at the bags, his expression somewhat overwhelmed.

“Alright?” John asked, walking to his side and putting a light hand on his elbow.  Sherlock turned to blink at him and gave him a single slow nod.

“Yes.  Just.  You’re actually moving back.”

John squeezed his grip and leaned up to place a quick peck on his cheek.  “Course we are.  Been wanting to come back for a long time now.”  He ignored the vague pink tinge that coloured Sherlock’s face as a result of his words and scooped up a few of the bags, gesturing with his head upstairs.  “Come on, let’s get all this up and the little lass settled.  She’s due for a nap.”

As he headed up the stairs, he heard Sherlock pop in downstairs to talk to Mrs. Hudson.  He could just hear her exclamations of delight at spotting Cecelia before he entered the sitting room.  Once inside, he let the bags in his hands slide to the floor and stood simply taking it in.  He had visited Sherlock countless times since his return, obviously, but visiting and actually coming back to live there were two extremely different circumstances.  The sensation was contentment that settled in his blood, a feeling he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d walked into this same room with the same intention of living here with this man.

Footsteps tapped up the steps and came to a halt directly behind him.  He turned and hugged Sherlock, the wrap jammed awkwardly between their chests.  Sherlock remained frozen for a moment, but eventually curled his arms around John’s neck and rested his head on John’s.  John breathed a sigh into Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s hair.  Smiling into his shirt, John pulled back to look up into his eyes.  “I’m glad you’re both here.”

“Me too.”  He took a step away from Sherlock, trailing a hand down his arm and squeezing his fingers.  He pulled at the knot attaching the wrap against his neck and tossed it into his chair.  “ _Síleas_ down with Mrs. H while we get everything settled up here?”

Nodding, Sherlock led them both down the stairs to collect more of the bags.  In a few minutes, they had a pile of luggage congregated in the middle of the sitting room.  Sherlock stood beside his armchair, arms crossed over his chest as he studied the bags as though they were one of his cases to be solved, before kneeling down and starting to open one of them.  When he gaped down into it and realized its size belayed little of its depth, he frowned up at John in stunned confusion.

John laughed outright and knelt at his side.  “It’s an Undetectable Extension Charm.  Makes everything on the inside larger so you can fit more in there, but you’d never be able to tell from the outside.  It’s a pretty nifty little piece of magic Harry reminded me of when I started packing everything up, otherwise it would have taken loads more trips.”

Sherlock glanced down into the bag once more, leaning forward to reach a hand inside.  Soon his entire arm sat engulfed inside it as he attempted to reach the bottom, an expression of extreme concentration etched onto his face.  He strained forward on his toes to reach in further, letting out a muffled cry of success once he finally found it.  His head popped up around the bag’s rim, his hair tangled in various directions as he whipped around in search of John.

“It’s enormous!  How big can you make it?  Does it only work on luggage?  Will it stay this way or can you turn it back to normal?  Would it appear like this for a Muggle, say if Mrs. Hudson was to stumble upon it, or would she simply see it as a normal sized bag?”

John walked to his side and hauled him to his feet, pulling him down with a hand cupped around his neck so that their faces met.  Their foreheads bumped together, Sherlock’s breath fast where it blew into John’s mouth, and he felt the edges of John’s smile against his cheeks.  “Your curiosity is insatiable and I’ve only just stepped in the door.  I’ll answer all your questions, you bloody madman, but first we’re making tea and working on unpacking while I do.”

He released Sherlock, enjoying the half smile and slowly blinking eyes that settled across his face, and spun to head into the kitchen.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, he spotted something out of place on the mantle that caught his interest.  Next to the skull and echoed in double by the mirror behind it was a vase with a trio of roses.  All three had perfectly pearl white bases, the edges of their petals seemingly dipped into burgundy ink that seeped down into the white.  At the sight of them, he immediately turned back around and grabbed at Sherlock’s collar, mashing their lips together messily.

“Osiria roses,” he gasped when he pulled away, Sherlock gulping in air.  “You put out osiria roses.  You utter romantic.”

"They’re your favourite,” Sherlock muttered, attempting to duck his face out of view.  “There’s one for each of us, you and Cecelia and me.  It’s a welcome home gift.”

“Oh, but you really are the sentimental one, aren’t you?”  John grinned before tackling him again.  They kissed for several more minutes until Sherlock was forced to pull away, his breathing shuddering and his face noticeably pinker.

“John.  I thought you were making tea.”

John nodded into Sherlock’s collar, attempting to rein his joy in enough to step back.  “Right, yeah, sorry.  Be back in a tick.”

He left Sherlock rummaging through the first bag to go into the kitchen.  When he grabbed the kettle, he felt his wand shift in its holster under his sleeve.  Shooting the closed kitchen door a quick glance, he yelled over his shoulder for Sherlock.  Moments later, Sherlock was at his side, John’s worn copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ in his hands.

“May I borrow this, John?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the pages as he flipped through them at a rapid speed.  “Some of these creatures are typical ones from traditional mythology, but others…these Nifflers, they’ve got something like the charm you have on your bags, it says.”

John peered over the book’s edge.  “Right, and they’re the ones who are like crows, aren’t they, in their attraction to shiny objects?  I think I had a mate a Hogwarts who set one off in his dormitory and it created hell in there.”

Sherlock hummed and continued to turn the pages, running a finger over the words as he read.  He let his hip rest against the table at John’s side and asked, “Why did you call?  I’ve almost finished with the first bag.”

“And by finished, you mean it’s all over the sitting room floor without anything being put in its proper place.”  John took Sherlock’s silence for agreement and shook his head, prodding his side lightly.  “Helpful.  I thought we could try something?  If you’re still interested in trying out magic?”  He waved the empty kettle in front of Sherlock, his eyebrows raised hopefully.

Snapping the book shut, Sherlock shoved it aside onto the table and pressed himself into John’s space.  “Yes!  What did you have in mind?”

With one hand, John placed the kettle between them on the table and used the other to pull out his wand.  He slid behind Sherlock, peering around his arm to place it into his right hand and tightened Sherlock’s fingers around the wood.  “Alright, we’re going to give the water conjuring charm a try.  It’s one of the ones taught to older students, so don’t feel too badly if you don’t manage it, okay?  The word you’ll need is aquamenti.”

“Aquamenti,” Sherlock muttered, shifting his fingers nervously on the wand.  John placed a hand on his hip and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Spot on.  Now, the motion is sort of a sideways s – I’ll help you the first time to show you what it feels like and then let you try it on your own.  Sound good?”  When he felt Sherlock nod, he snaked his hand up and wrapped it around Sherlock’s.  Together they moved John’s wand in the appropriate motion, Sherlock’s brows furrowed in concentration.  John let go to slide his hand down and rest along Sherlock’s wrist, allowing him to practice the move on his own.  Once he seemed to have mastered it without the hesitation of his first few tries, John asked, “Ready to try the full thing?”

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the handle and took a deep breath.  “Yes.  Aquamenti.”  He made the movements perfectly, but nothing happened.  John rubbed at his hip, scratching his nails in lightly.

“You’re doing fine.  Now try it together, saying the word and waving the wand at the same time.”

He leaned towards the kettle, pointing the wand’s tip toward it with purpose as he moved.  “Aquamenti!”  John saw his wand vibrate a bit in Sherlock’s grip, but still no water came from it.  He thought for a moment while Sherlock lowered the wand to his side.  His shoulders fell slightly where one of them rested next to John’s cheek.

“Okay, I think you might be overthinking it.”  John moved around so that he stood in front of Sherlock, waiting for him to open his eyes and look at him before continuing.  “We know you’ve got the magic and you’ve gotten my wand to work with some effort before, but the thing with spells is…it’s hard to explain, but part of it is just letting it happen and trusting it’ll do what it’s supposed to do.  If you don’t have enough faith that your magic can handle it, that can psych you out and force you to try harder than you need to.  It interferes with the magic’s natural ability to just, you know.  Be magic.”

Sherlock’s expression remained neutral while he gazed down at John.  “Be magic.  Seriously, John?”

Rubbing at his forehead, John sighed.  “Just trust me, okay?  Magic doesn’t come from the wand – it’s like it’s the transport that helps transfer it from you to whatever needs to be done, just like how you separate your body from your mind.  But you have to relax and let it happen, you see?  You’re trying too hard and tensing up, it’s freaking your mind out and making you focus too much on all of it.  Just let it happen and see how it goes, eh?”

Sherlock’s expression remained doubtful, but he nodded.  John stepped to his side and Sherlock raised the wand once more, his posture remaining stiff.  Instantly John approached and began lowering his shoulders and wand arm, attempting to pull him into a more natural position.  Sherlock let him move him around without protest.  Once he was finished, John stepped back and waved him on in encouragement.  Sherlock’s eyes darted between John and the kettle before he took a breath and performed the spell.

At first, it seemed as though this attempt would too be a failure.  After a few seconds of waiting, however, a few trickles of water sputtered out of the end of John’s wand.  It shuddered briefly, releasing a sudden violent stream of water, before going still once more.

“Not bad!” John exclaimed, placing a hand on Sherlock’s elbow and rubbing his thumb into his sleeve.  “A bit of practice and a wand of your own and I’m sure you’ll have it.  See what I mean, though?  If you let yourself get out of your head a bit, you’ll be able to focus in on the magic itself more.”

Sherlock handed over the wand and walked over to pick up a towel to clean up the water on the floor.  “Yes, I suppose so.  I expected it to be more impressive, however.”

“It is, and it will be.”  When Sherlock continued to stare down at the floor, John came to his side and wrapped an arm around him, reaching up to kiss him below his ear.  “You’ll get there.  You’ve barely done any spells before, Sherlock, and I just asked you to do a NEWT level one.  You can’t be expected to master all of it right away.  That’s why we’re going to work on it together, yeah?”

Sherlock leaned into John and sighed.  “Yes.  Are we actually having tea now?”

“Give me a mo, I’ll put it on the Muggle way,” John chuckled, pushing off from Sherlock and taking the kettle to the sink.  “Go on back out to the sitting room, I’ll be out with them and we’ll sort through all of mine and Cecelia’s junk.”

As he made the tea, he heard footsteps start to ascend the stairs.  He hastily reattached his wand to the holster under his sleeve, barely getting it inside and his arm covered again by the time Mrs. Hudson entered the sitting room with Cecelia.  He left the three of them alone while he worked in the kitchen, savouring the faint noise of Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson talking while Cecelia added in occasional senseless babble.  The contentment of earlier settled into his chest now as he brought the tea out and found Sherlock cross-legged in front of his chair surrounded by luggage and with Cecelia in his lap.

“Oh John, it’s so good to have you back,” Mrs. Hudson said as John set Sherlock’s tea on the side table next to him.  Sherlock smiled up at him in thanks before turning his attention back to Cecelia.  “And having Cecelia here all the time will be lovely.  Sherlock’s been so excited, he’s done such a wonderful job at making sure you both would be comfortable when you arrived.”

Raising a brow, John looked down at Sherlock.  “Did he now.  How d’you mean?”

Mrs. Hudson shot him a happy smile and waved her hands.  “I won’t spoil it for you, but it’s simply beautiful.  I’m sure you’ll be pleased with it.”  She glanced around at the bags and moved towards the door.  “Well, I’ll stop pestering you three and leave you to it.  If you need anything, just let me know.  I’m always happy to look after the little one if you need me.”  Waving them goodbye, she headed back downstairs.

“She brought biscuits.”  Sherlock nodded at the desk and John noticed a floral tin that hadn’t been there before.  “I also believe there are scones in the oven downstairs, but I think she’s saving those for the morning.  She, ah, may have made sure that I had food suitable for more than just Cecelia, which I hadn’t realized until earlier.”

“Not our housekeeper my arse,” John said, grinning.  “She’s the best adoptive gran Cecelia’ll ever have.”  He sat on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and took a sip of his tea.  “So what’s this surprise she was so excited about?”

Sherlock kept his gaze on Cecelia, who sat propped up in his lap with her back against his chest.  She held her bee in her chubby hands, alternating between mumbling at it, chewing on one of its antenna, and pounding it into her legs and occasionally Sherlock’s thigh.  Finally Sherlock twitched his head to the side and shrugged, toying with the edge of Cecelia’s shirt.  “It’s nothing.  Just something I did upstairs.  In your old room.”

John’s eyebrow raised and he set aside his mug, standing and heading towards the stairs.  Behind him, he heard Sherlock shuffling around to struggle and stand, mumbling that it was nothing and that they should finish unpacking first.  John ignored him and headed up the steps to pull open the door.  As soon as he did, he stood frozen in the doorway gaping around at the room that once was entirely familiar and now had become something completely new.

All of John’s old furniture had been removed and replaced with a crib, changing table, dresser, rocking chair, bookcase, and a closed chest that John suspected was already filled with toys.  The walls, which had always been a pleasing but unassuming grey, had been totally transformed.  Sherlock managed to paint them to depict a peaceful garden, flowers including more of the osiria roses dotting the grass that seemed to blow along the bottom edges of the trim.  A tree took up almost the entire wall directly across from the door, a pair of birds peering through the leaves and the edge of a beehive tucked into its side.  To accompany the hive, bees danced along the tops of a few of the flowers, leading back to their home at the tree.  The horizon appeared to continue further than could have been possible by rolling hills and even a stream that trickled on the left, leading out of the window and into the invisible distance.  When John finally stepped inside, he realized the colours had been made to gradually darken towards the top, shifting the scene into twilight.  The ceiling became the night sky, covered in a dazzling array of stars that matched the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling on a clear evening.

“Do you like it?”  Sherlock’s voice was small before John spun around to face him.  He hovered in the doorway, his face lowered as he looked up at John through his lashes.  He swayed slightly with Cecelia on his hip, rubbing her back as she looked into the room with curiosity.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, stepping forward to pull him into the room.  The three of them stood at the centre of it in silence for a moment, merely taking it in.  “It’s bloody beautiful.  Did you do this all yourself?”

Sherlock ducked his head down against Cecelia’s head, his face reddening again.  “I thought she might like it.  Gardens are calming in general and I’ve always enjoyed them, and I knew I could incorporate the osiria fairly easily this way.  Besides, with the fact that we know that both you and…well, I thought the ceiling looked a bit like Hogwarts and I hoped…perhaps someday she might see the real thing and be reminded.  Of home.  If she comes to consider this home.  Which she will.  Hopefully.  If the two of you wish to stay for an extended period of time.  Which I hope you do.  You should know you’re both welcome here as long as you wish, John.”

Shaking his head, John reached a hand out and wrapped it around Sherlock’s neck.  “God, you’re amazing, do you know?  Of course we’re staying, permanently if possible.  You beautiful idiot, I couldn’t possibly think of anywhere we’d rather be.”

Grinning broadly, Sherlock pulled John down by the arm so that they were lying on the floor side by side on the plush circular rug that was the same shade as the grass trim.  He situated Cecelia on her stomach between them, giving her enough room to crawl around and investigate without getting into mischief.  “I researched, John!  Obviously there isn’t enough room here to copy the whole of the Great Hall’s ceiling, but I was investigating in _Hogwarts, A History_ and used that as well as what I remembered of it from our time there to base it off the part of the ceiling that’s over the Hufflepuff table.  I don’t want to try and influence Cecelia when she goes to Hogwarts, because of course she will, you know she’ll start showing signs of magic soon, but since I don’t technically have a House, I thought yours might be a good one, besides it can act as a good representation of you, so the meaning behind it was best, I thought…”

As Sherlock continued to explain, John snaked a hand around Cecelia to link his with Sherlock’s.  He stuttered briefly in his speech, but when John squeezed his fingers he spotted a lift at the corner of Sherlock’s lips right before he continued.

~~~

Later that night, after Cecelia had been put to bed in her newly decorated room, John and Sherlock sat on the floor of the sitting room once more.  The remaining bags lay at their feet waiting to be unpacked, mostly made up of John’s things that needed to be sorted and organized.  The fire had been built up at their side into a cheerful crackle, Cecelia’s baby monitor remained silent, and each held half a glass of wine John discovered at the back of a cupboard.  Half because of the wine and half simply due to the elation of being in 221b again, John found himself spending more time watching Sherlock than actually unpacking.

He twirled the stem of his glass before taking a sip.  “Okay, but really, how long did that room take you?  If you did it all on your own?”

Sherlock shrugged and slouched down further against the lower part of his chair, tangling their outstretched legs together.  “A month?  Two?  I can’t remember anymore.  I did the ceiling last, obviously, after we got back from Hogwarts.  I’ve worked on it whenever I’ve had the chance to between cases.”

John leaned forward, naturally gravitating further into Sherlock’s space.  “You mean you’ve been doing that before you even knew we’d be coming back?  Just, I dunno, for when we came over to visit?  Before…everything?”

Grumbling into his wine, Sherlock stared into the fire.  “Yes, I suppose I did.  I wanted to make sure she had a safe place here.  So that she knew that while she was at Baker Street, she would always be welcome and protected.”

“You really are an affectionate bastard and I adore it.”  Sherlock scowled and John laughed as he finished his wine.  “Well, I say fuck the rest of this until morning.  It’s not going anywhere and I’m knackered.”

Sherlock rose to his feet and began to temper the fire for the night.  John, meanwhile, rummaged through his bags for his pajamas and headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed.  By the time he was finished, Sherlock had changed into his own pajamas and was in the process of bringing their glasses into the kitchen.  John approached him at the sink to rest a hand on his lower back and place a kiss on his cheek.  “Night, love.”

Sherlock stiffened in John’s grasp.  “Ah.  Good night, John.”

He briefly rubbed his fingers into Sherlock’s spine before heading off towards the stairs.  He made it halfway up before he realized an issue with Sherlock’s alteration to his old room.  Freezing on the steps, he hesitated momentarily before turning to go back down.  Sherlock’s door was already closed, so he rapped on it with light knuckles.

“Hey Sherlock?  Um, can we talk for a second?”

After a brief second of scrambling, the door opened and Sherlock’s face peered out.  He seemed a bit more flushed than would normally be expected for simply climbing out of bed, but John ignored it for the time being.  “Yes, John?” he asked, slightly out of breath.  “What’s the matter?”

“Er, it’s just…”  John rubbed the back of his neck and pointed a finger up at the ceiling.  “Cecelia’s room is great but.  Um.  We didn’t take into account where I was going to sleep.”

The colour in Sherlock’s face instantly faded.  “Oh.”  He glanced around his shoulder into his room, his eyes enormous when they turned back to John.  “Ah.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

John smiled a small smile and leaned into the door jam.  “Yeah.  I could, you know.  Join you here.  If that’s okay with you.”

As fast as Sherlock’s blush had gone, it came back to the forefront with a vengeance at John’s suggestion.  One of his hands held a death grip on the edge of his door, the other clutching desperately at the collar of his dressing gown.  His eyes darted to the floor where his feet shuffled a bit in place, but he didn’t actually make a move to close or open the door further.  “I.  You mean.  Um.”

“Just to sleep,” John instantly reassured, ducking his head in an attempt to meet Sherlock’s eyes.  Sherlock, meanwhile, shifted his gaze away to avoid it.  “Really, that’s all.  I wouldn’t…we’ve barely even just gotten together, love, there’s no rush into anything at all.”

At the term of endearment, Sherlock’s head shot up.  He turned a final time, seemingly to glance at the bed, before eventually pushing the door open and going to stand behind it.  As soon as John had walked past the threshold, Sherlock darted past and shot out into the kitchen.

“I’m just going to check up on Cecelia!” he called, already out into the hall from the side door and partially up the stairs.  “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be down once I’m done!”

John blinked after him and frowned.  With a shake of his head, he turned to the bed and considered it.  The covers were pushed back on the side closest to the door, leaving Sherlock’s scramble to answer it an even greater mystery.  John walked to the opposite side and situated himself easily, turning his head to the side to look at the empty space.  Other than the fact that the drawer to the side table appeared to have been left slightly open, nothing appeared out of place.  John shrugged and turned back so that he was looking up at the ceiling and listened to Sherlock pace around in Cecelia’s new nursery.

Though he tried to stay awake until Sherlock returned, John felt himself falling asleep within minutes.  Before long, he was out, the light on the side table leaving him in a slight glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Cecelia's bee to look a bit like [this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/317714948691713271)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock start to settle into their new domesticity, but when they try to give magic a try, things don't go exactly the way either of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be continued fluff, the beginnings of angst, and the first very tiny hint of smut. Thanks once more to [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) for the beta!

When John woke the next morning, it was to a bed devoid of Sherlock Holmes.  He might have thought Sherlock simply had gotten up before him, but his side of the bed was exactly the same as when John fell asleep the night before.  He stood and stretched out his spine, stopping to finally turn out the light before making his way out into the rest of the flat.  Sherlock wasn’t in the kitchen or the sitting room, so after setting the kettle on its pedestal to boil, he started up the stairs to check for him in Cecelia’s room.

Cecelia lay rolling onto her stomach in her crib just as John walked in.  Sherlock, meanwhile, sat in the rocking chair beside her, his head tilted almost completely onto his shoulder and his mouth hanging slightly open.  A yellow blanket sat draped over one of his legs, almost falling to the floor, and an empty baby bottle slipped nearly out of his right hand.  As Cecelia gurgled at John, the noise startled a soft snore from Sherlock that jostled the bottle to the floor.  The plush rug silenced its fall and he slept on.

John stepped over to the chair and carefully took up the blanket, rolling it around until it became a pillow-like shape.  He cradled the side of Sherlock’s head and lifted it, placing the blanket under his head and propping it up at a more comfortable angle.  Through the whole thing, Sherlock never responded, and John brushed aside his fringe to kiss his forehead before straightening.

“Come on, lass,” John whispered as he scooped Cecelia up.  “Let’s let him rest.”  Pausing next to the changing table, he gave her a cautious sniff and deemed her fine.  He angled the baby monitor close to Sherlock’s head so that he could hear them downstairs once he woke before making his way back down.

They had set up a highchair in the kitchen for Cecelia the night before, so John placed her there and planted a kiss on her head.  She giggled and grabbed at his face, too slow to do any damage, before starting to pound on the plastic tray as he attached it.  He popped into the bedroom to snag the second monitor and put it between them on the table as he started to make his tea.

“Well then, _Síleas_ , did Sherlock sleep up there with you all night?” he asked.  Upstairs, the sound of John saying his name caused Sherlock to stir.  He stretched and winced, his fist colliding with his rudimentary pillow.  Frowning at it, he glanced around until he found the source of John’s voice.  “I think I may have scared him off a bit last night.”

Shuffling crackled around the room, followed by the clacks and slams of metal on plastic that beat out randomly.  John chuckled and groaned, the scrape of wood on linoleum signaling that he had sat at the table.

Cecelia chattered and slammed her spoon on the tray.  John sipped at his tea and stretched his legs out under the table, watching her with a small smile.  “What do you think?  Have I already mucked something up, then?”

“You haven’t mucked anything up, John.”  Sherlock’s voice came from the stairwell and jolted John to attention.  He lurked in the doorway, one arm of his dressing gown hanging down off his shoulder.  He came to loom fully at the entrance, his hands behind his back and his gaze focused on Cecelia.  “I hope you didn’t change Cecelia before you brought her down.  I’d already done it not long ago so she should be fine.”

“No, I noticed.”  John stood and clicked the kettle back on before starting to pull out the necessary materials for breakfast.  “Thanks.  So what was that about me not mucking it up?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock moved to John’s side and began preparing his own tea.  “You haven’t…I got distracted and fell asleep in the rocking chair.  It was nothing you did.”

“And after that one inevitably woke you up?”  John waved his head toward Cecelia as he poured a splash of oil in the pan and added a few eggs.

Sherlock shrugged, stirring his tea bag around in the mug.  “I…wanted to make sure she would be okay.  It was her first night in a new room and I didn’t want her to feel as though she was alone.”

“So you left me on my own instead.”  At Sherlock’s worried expression, John shook his head and breathed out a laugh.  “It’s fine.  It’s sweet, actually.  But you don’t have to take care of her by yourself, you know.  We should be doing it together at the very least, just like we’re doing everything, yeah?”

Nodding, Sherlock added bread to the toaster.  “Of course.  But it was your first night back as well.  You deserved to sleep.  I could take care of her for the night; it was my pleasure.”

John paused before the popping pan, grinning as he watched Sherlock move over to the fridge to pull out a container of juice and a package of bacon.  He passed the latter absentmindedly to John while pouring himself a glass of the juice, turning to consider Cecelia.  “Have you begun introducing her to traditional food yet, John?  Should I cut up an apple to see if she might enjoy it?  I know her teeth have only just started to come in, but if I soften it enough beforehand, I think she’s more than capable of giving it a try, and incorporating non-baby food early is said to be better for their overall development, at least from what I’ve read.”

Going back to his pans, John added the bacon.  “You can give it a try.  Mary and I had just started to give her bits of random things, usually soft stuff like fruits and veg and cereal every so often, but we hadn’t tried apples yet.  She’s a fan of bananas if you’ve got any of those, as well as pears.”

Sherlock traded his juice for an apple and knife and returned to Cecelia’s side, pulling his seat in close so she could watch.  “I’ve seen a few recipes online that parents have used where they incorporate the fruits and vegetables in baked items such as waffles.  Perhaps we can find something like that and give it a try.  If we have her try as many diverse foods as possible at a young age, it will lower her chances of becoming a picky eater later on.”

“How on earth did you get to be so good at this?”  John shook his head in amazement as he doled out their breakfast onto two separate plates.  When he turned, Sherlock was coaxing a tiny piece of apple into Cecelia’s mouth.  She mashed it around briefly in contemplation before finally swallowing, her expression unsure.  She waved her spoon and cocked her head before reaching out her free hand to Sherlock, opening and closing her fingers in a demand for more.  Sherlock smugly glanced over at John before returning to his task of chopping and passing over his offerings.

John couldn’t help but wonder if this was what his life would be now as he moved over to grab their toast and prepare it.  Once his breakfast was before him, Sherlock set at it with half of his attention, the rest of his focus on feeding Cecelia.  The mere fact that Sherlock ate without objection was enough of a sign to John of how at ease he already had become in their new situation.  It made him think back on how odd he acted the night before at the prospect of the two of them sharing a bed, but he suspected it had simply been a matter of accidentally startling him.  Hopefully after a day of coming to terms with it would settle his nerves and their second evening would go more smoothly.

“It’s all basic scientific development at its core, John,” Sherlock replied, pulling John out of his thoughts.  “When children are at this age, their needs are very straightforward.  It’s simply a matter of breaking the barrier of language difficulties and they’re quite easy to understand.”  He shoved toast into his mouth with one hand while the other carefully guided a piece of apple into Cecelia’s mouth.  She giggled at him before taking it, her mostly toothless gums chomping away happily.

“The language barrier certainly is a pain in the arse.”  John chewed a corner of his bacon and considered them.  “Could we try teaching her sign language?  Would that help?  Maybe get her development up a bit sooner, even.  Besides, can’t hurt to give her as many skills as possible, yeah?  Certainly would be a challenge for all of us.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up when they turned to John.  “That’s a fantastic idea, John!  The cognitive skills that could be enhanced by working on both verbal and visual language in an infant are sure to be expansive!  We can begin right away, simply start incorporating it into everyday activities with verbs and nouns that are most common for her, and as soon as she’s ready to use them she’ll hopefully begin to simply follow our leads.”

With a nod, John smiled over at him and stood, snatching up their plates as he did.  Sherlock tilted his face up to watch him as he went and John took the opportunity to lean down and kiss him.  He smiled into it, pulling away reluctantly and grinning at Sherlock’s half closed eyes.  “Brilliant.  You make the list of words and I’ll teach myself.  Then you’ll probably end up correcting me and showing off like always.”  Sherlock mumbled out a chuckle deep in his throat and John couldn’t help but adjust the plates into a single grip so he could thread a hand through his curls.  “We’ll have a lovely time, don’t you think?”

Just as their lips were about to meet again, an enormous clattering pulled them apart and brought their focus around to Cecelia.  The spoon she’d been holding had been shot across the table and Cecelia, although she was the one to throw it in the first place, scrunched up her face in indignant rage.  John recognized the expression and jumped into action, releasing Sherlock to snatch up the spoon and put it back within her reach.  Although she grabbed it again, her mouth remained in a pout as she pounded it against the edge of her tray in obvious irritation.

“Looks like little miss is done with being trapped in her chair,” John remarked, finally taking away their dishes.  “If we set up a blanket and a few barriers out on the sitting room floor, we can put her up with a few toys and watch over her while we get to work.”

“On what?”  Sherlock took the tray off Cecelia’s tray and picked her up, narrowly ducking when she swung the spoon at him.

“On magic, you nutter, what else?”  John stepped out through the kitchen door and shot up the stairs to Cecelia’s room.  Moments later he came back down laden down with blankets, pillows, and toys.  He kicked aside the remaining unpacked bags until they were under the desk and tossed his pile of items in front of the empty grate.  Studying their pair of armchairs, he started to push and pull them together so that Sherlock’s sat directly in front of the fireplace, blocking the grate completely from the room.  He positioned his own chair in front of one of the bookcases, right next to Sherlock’s.  Once satisfied with them, he started to pile the pillows in a medium-sized circle in the area where the chairs normally sat.  The space in the middle remained open, the blankets John brought quickly spread out on the area for cushioning.  He built the sides up enough so Cecelia couldn’t climb over them before they noticed and placed the toys sporadically throughout her makeshift play area.  When finished, he looked up to see Sherlock standing with Cecelia in his arms, watching him with a soft smile.

“You look as though you’ve done this before,” Sherlock remarked as he brought Cecelia forward and passed her over.  She squirmed in his arms and John soon had her down on the blankets, where she quickly crawled off to snatch up a train and start slamming it against the floor.  With work, she contorted it on its side and had half of its wheels rolling against the blanket, squealing in her success.

“It’s rather convenient, actually,” John replied with a grin, pulling Sherlock further into the room.  “Who needs all those fancy store-bought contraptions, eh?  I wouldn’t suggest leaving her alone in that, though.  She’s damn smart and can get herself over those pillows in a few minutes if you stop paying attention for too long if she’s got the right dedication.”

“Damn smart like her papa,” Sherlock said and John was forced to pull his head down and plant a kiss on his lips.  He felt Sherlock smiling around it and began to laugh into it, finally ducking his head down and shaking his head.

“Stop distracting me when I’m about to teach you magic.”  He darted around Sherlock and into their room, snatching up his wand where he left it on the nightstand the evening before.  When he returned, he set a detection charm on both the sitting room and kitchen doors in case Mrs. Hudson or a client arrived before returning to Sherlock’s side.

“How am I distracting you?  I’m just standing here.”  Sherlock gestured widely with his arms, the corner of his mouth turning up mischievously.  John rolled his eyes.

“That’s all it takes, isn’t it?”  Sherlock’s smirk widened and John came to stand at his side.  “Alright, enough playing around.  You wanna learn more spells or what?”  At Sherlock’s nod, he glanced around and spotted a book on the coffee table.  “Okay, so this is a pretty standard spell we all learn in first year, so unlike yesterday, you’ll hopefully have less trouble with it.  You’ve probably come across the levitation charm during all of your readings, right?”

“Of course I have, John,” he replied.  “As you said, it’s a fairly basic spell.  Performed with the phrase ‘Wingardium Leviosa,’ it requires a combination of swishing and flicking motions that focuses in on the wrist.  When cast correctly, it can make items of any size or weight levitate and move at the caster’s discretion until the spell is released.”

“Yeah, alright, you bloody show-off.  Care to put the theory into practice?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at John’s wand.  Turning around with a swish of his dressing gown, he went into the corner where his violin sat.  He pulled the bow out of its case with a flourish and returned to John, nodding for him to continue.  John’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline in surprise, but he gave himself a shake and cleared his throat.

“Er.  Okay.  So like you said, the motion’s a swish and flick.  It needs to be pretty fluid, should move straight from the one into the other, and be done at the same time as you say the spell, just like what we did yesterday.  Just watch what I do with my wrist and copy it.”  John smiled and flicked his wand, waving with his other hand for Sherlock to mimic him.

He attempted to make the motion, using his bow as a stand-in for a wand.  While his technique overall was fine, the excessive length of the bow impeded the motion, causing it to whip through the air with a sharp whoosh and almost smack John in the face.  John batted it out of the way and dodged, wincing when the bow clattered to the floor from the force of the movement.

“Right, so maybe let’s not use a bow as a substitute for a wand.”  Rubbing the back of his neck, John watched Sherlock replace the bow to its rightful place.  “You know, McGonagall said she would talk to Ollivander about making sure you could get your wand whenever you wanted.  All it would take is a chat in the Floo or a quick owl to make sure it’s all settled and we could head down to his shop.  It’s in London even – we’d only need to go down to Charing Cross – “

“No.”  Sherlock flexed his fingers, letting them fall to his side restlessly.  “Ah, not right now.  I have to meet with Lestrade this afternoon about the end of a case.  Perhaps a different day would be best.”

“That’s fine.”  John studied Sherlock, his movements nervous as he moved over to Cecelia to make sure she stayed within her pillow fort.  She’d hardly moved from her original spot, continuing to slam and skid her train across the blanket.  Regardless, he adjusted the pillows needlessly, refusing to turn and look at John.  Frowning, John glanced at the desk behind him and snatched up a pen.  “Here, give this a try instead.  It didn’t look like you really needed much practice anyway, so you should be able to move on to trying it with my wand in a mo.”

Sherlock straightened and returned to John’s side, but he still refused to look up at him.  Taking up the pen, he flawlessly guided it through the motions, crying, “Wingardium Leviosa!” while pointing it at the book.  Though it obviously didn’t move, John was certain, had Sherlock been holding an actual wand, the spell would have worked without a hitch.

Chuckling, John slid the pen from Sherlock’s hand and replaced it with his wand.  “Well, as I expected, you have the theory down perfectly.  Now give it a shot with that.”

The wand quivered in Sherlock’s grip and he straightened as soon as it was placed into his hand.  Rather than immediately performing the spell as John expected, he remained frozen with his arm upraised and outstretched, his gaze fixed on the book.  John heard him take a deep breath, the exhale shaky, and he moved to step closer to Sherlock.  Before he could, Sherlock lowered the wand and, turning abruptly, placed it gently on the desk behind him.

“Perhaps we could continue this at a later time, John,” he said quietly, speaking down at the papers below the wand.  “I really must get to Lestrade, and Molly has a set of lungs I’ve been meaning to look at.”

Before John had the chance to respond, Sherlock was off in the direction of their room, closing the door behind him with a solid click.  John blinked after him in stunned silence, shooting concerned looks between his wand and the bedroom door.  Within minutes, Sherlock emerged, impeccably dressed.  He briefly searched the sitting room for his mobile, spotting it on his chair, and clambered around John’s fortress to snatch it up.  Calling out a prompt goodbye, he rushed down the stairs and was out the door.

John frowned and eventually made his way over to his chair, contorting himself around the pillows so he could sit in it.  Cecelia glanced up and babbled nonsense words at him, seemingly questioning him.  He shrugged at her and she continued to mutter down at her train, occasionally pushing it against his foot.

He ignored her for the moment and dug around in his pajama bottoms for his own mobile, soon finding it in one of the pockets.  He thumbed through his texts until he reached Lestrade’s name, hovering over the conversation with momentary uncertainty.  Huffing out a determined breath, he brought up the messages and started a new one.

**Did you have a case on with Sherlock right now?  J**

He tossed the mobile onto Sherlock’s chair and leaned forward to look down at Cecelia.  “Well then, since our magic lesson’s been cut unexpectedly short, how about you and I take a trip over to Regents, hmm?  Stop and say hello to the ducks and geese, pop to a shop and get this place some real food?”

Scooping her up so that she was tucked into his elbow, John carried her up the stairs to get her ready to go out.  When he set her back down in her pillow fort in the sitting room ten minutes later, the notification light on his mobile was blinking.  For the moment, he ignored it and dug around in the remaining bags in the room, mentally reminding himself to finish unpacking that night as he pulled out a fresh set of clothes.  He dressed quickly right there in the sitting room, popping into the bedroom long enough to throw his pajamas on the bed, and ruffled a hand through his hair, judging it good enough for the time being.  He finally picked up the mobile when he scooped up Cecelia, settling her into her wrap at the same time as he stepped into his shoes.

**Not right now, no.  Why, is he looking for one?  L**

Frowning, John replied with a **No reason.  J** before trotting down the stairs, his thoughts more on Sherlock than the park.

~~~

By the time they returned a few hours later, Sherlock still hadn’t come back from wherever he’d run off to.  John set Cecelia up in her crib for a nap after giving her a quick change, where she fell asleep almost immediately.  Content that she would be settled for a while, he returned to the kitchen to take care of the groceries.  He considered his leftover unpacked bags, kneeling next to them in the sitting room with a groan once he was finished in the kitchen.  The only things that remained were John’s clothes and, given what had happened the evening before, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them at the moment.

Shoving the bag away from him, he reached for his mobile and pulled up Sherlock’s name.  Before he could think better of it, he typed out, **Hey, you okay?  Maybe we should talk.** He heard a muffled buzz from somewhere deeper in the flat and cocked his head in confusion.  Reaching into his sleeve, he slipped out his wand and snuck towards Sherlock’s room, where he suspected the noise came from originally.  The door stood somewhat ajar and John nudged it with his foot to peer inside.

Sherlock lay on the bed with his back to the door, still in his suit jacket and shoes.  Cecelia’s monitor, which John had returned to the side table closest to the door before they left, was gone.  When John stepped further into the room, he realized Sherlock had it on the bed in front of him, fiddling with it while listening to the noises of Cecelia sleeping.  He stroked the side of it as she mumbled, the noise crackling over the monitor, and let out a sigh as his mobile buzzed again.

He rolled over to stare up at the ceiling.  “You don’t need to lurk in the doorway, John.  I believe you said you wanted to talk?”

John came and sat at his hip, resting his hand next to Sherlock’s.  “Should have known this is where you’d be.  And there’s no need to sound so ominous – it’s not as bad as it all sounds.”

Sherlock sighed and sat up, moving to lean against the headboard with his knees tucked up under his chin.  “You’ve just moved in after we’ve begun a relationship and I have unexpectedly run away from multiple problems in less than twenty-four hours after your arrival.  Using the phrase ‘maybe we should talk,’ in my experience, can only be taken as ominous, particularly given the current situation.”

Climbing over Sherlock so that they were sitting side by side, their thighs brushing together, John took up Sherlock’s hand and rubbed his palm.  “The entire purpose of talking is to make sure it doesn’t go wrong, you know.  I didn’t mean for it to sound like a bad thing, just that I was worried and I wanted us to…I dunno, talk about what’s going on for once?  We’ve never been known for having very good luck with communication, but if we don’t try to fix it now, it’ll only get worse the longer we wait.”  He glanced off into the distance and gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze.  “Believe me, I’ve got experience enough to know that.”

With a nod, Sherlock curled his fingers around John’s.  “Fine.  What did you wish to discuss?”

“Well…I talked to Greg.”

“And he informed you that I was not actually on a case, I’m sure.”  Sherlock thunked his head back against the headboard and turned to look at John.  “You actually aren’t a complete idiot, you know.”

“You also were pretty obviously upset so I was concerned, but thanks.”  John grinned.  “So where’d you go instead?”

“Barts.  Molly really did have a set of lungs for me.”

“Okay.”  John paused, hoping Sherlock would explain himself on his own, but when he remained silent, he was forced to continue.  “So what was that about this morning?  I thought you were excited about learning and developing your magic.”

“I am!  I…”  He snatched up the monitor from where it had been left ignored on the duvet, simply for something to do with his hands.  “I’m concerned that I won’t be as skilled at it as you expect me to be and we’ll both end up frustrated.”

John blinked and his brows furrowed as he watched Sherlock.  “Sherlock – “

As John went to put an arm around him, Sherlock leaned away and buried his head in his knees.  His curls waved furiously as he shook his head.  “It’s ridiculous, I know, but any time I’ve tried magic with your wand, it’s been difficult, or the spell hasn’t quite turned out right, and you’re so certain that I’ll be able to perform them that when I can’t I’m worried that I’ve disappointed you, and I’ll just continue to disappoint you because you’ve become so accustomed to simply _assuming_ that I’ll be able to accomplish whatever it is that I attempt to do that if I can’t do this thing, that you already seem to do so well…I don’t want you to think less of me, John, and I don’t have to learn it, it isn’t absolutely necessary – “

“Alright, just stop.”  John moved so that he sat behind Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his middle, resting his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder.  “First of all, I would never be disappointed in you.  Of course you won’t get it right on the first try, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  That’s why we’re going to work on it together.  But part of the reason why you’re having that trouble is because the wand isn’t yours – if we go get you one of your own, that actually chooses you and is the right fit for your magic, the spells will come to you more like they should.”

Slowly Sherlock lifted his face to turn and look at John.  “But what if I can’t find a wand that will choose me?  My magic’s not the same…it wasn’t enough to get me into Hogwarts, so then what’s to say I’ll even be able to find one?”

John kneaded his sides reassuringly.  “We’ve proven you have magic, Sherlock.  That’s all you need.  If you’ve got that, Ollivander can find you a wand.”

He ran a hand up and down Sherlock’s spine in an attempt to soothe and eventually Sherlock took a deep breath, running a hand roughly through his hair.  “Yes, you’re right, of course.  I’m overreacting.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say overreacting,” John muttered, starting to trail kisses along Sherlock’s neck.  “Jumping to conclusions, maybe.  Overthinking things, definitely.  But it’s a worry anyone in your situation would have.  I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that it was bothering you.”

“It’s not your fault.”  He tilted his head up, allowing John’s mouth to move along to his jaw.  “Was, ah, there something else you wished to discuss?”

John grinned against his skin and moved to nip lightly at his Adam’s apple.  At the breathless gasp he received in response, his grin widened.  “Nope, think that covered it.  But we technically haven’t had the chance to really make _your_ bed into _ours_ yet, if you’re interested.”

“I wasn’t aware you were tired, John.”  Sherlock’s hand had moved to grip hard on John’s thigh, an instant reflex reaction to the sensations on his neck.  The bluntness of his nails dug through John’s jeans and into the meat of his leg, leaving him with a heady awareness. 

“And I wasn’t insinuating we do anything that involves sleeping.”  He slid around until he was laying on his side, guiding Sherlock with him and moving up to his mouth.  They spent several minutes lazily snogging, John trailing a hand up and down Sherlock’s flank.  His fingers had just moved to the front of Sherlock’s belt when a noise between them caused them both to jump apart in alarm.  As soon as they had broken apart, the baby monitor that had been jammed between them tumbled into the space they made.  From it, the sounds of a stirring Cecelia issued, causing John to groan.

“Cockblocked by my own daughter,” he muttered into the sheets before turning to stare at a wide-eyed Sherlock.  “Shockingly that’s the first time that’s happened in her almost eight months with me.”

Sherlock scrubbed at his face and breathed in deeply through his nose.  “It never happened with Mary?”

John swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose to his feet, stopping on Sherlock’s side to plant a final kiss on his lips before he left.  “Needed to be up to something to begin with for a cock to be blocked, wouldn’t you agree?”  He shot him a wink before heading up to check on Cecelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my good friends from undergrad had a baby almost two years ago now, so she has become my source of baby knowledge, along with the internet. Cecelia is essentially her son, and I decided to have Sherlock and John do some of the things with her that my friend does with her kiddo. That includes the veggie waffles (which he’s an enormous fan of) and teaching them sign language. As for Cecelia playing with the train, that’s in honor of my cousin’s first child, who was obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine when he was little. I have no idea whether or not this blanket/pillow fort John creates is actually a good idea; I just thought it was a good visual and it’s fiction so why the hell not. Additionally, I can confirm that pretending to use a violin bow as a wand does not work (not that I was playing around with my bow in orchestra or anything and would therefore know this). They are, however, quite convenient for poking annoying people and making it seem like an accident. ;)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for a trip to Diagon Alley. Along the way, a few friends from John's past show up and bring up more questions from Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks for the beta to [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989)!

Despite what they nearly got up to earlier in the day and their discussion about Sherlock’s concerns with his magic, he still made excuses about sharing the bed that night.  John had brought Cecelia back down with him when she disturbed them, settling her on Sherlock’s stomach for him to amuse her.  In the meantime, he dragged his bags into Sherlock’s room, managing to find space for all of his things between the dresser and closet.  The only comment he received from the bed was a declaration not to ruin his system, confirming finally that John’s clothes at least were welcome in the room.  But that evening, long after Cecelia had gone to bed, John made his way into the bedroom and Sherlock never joined him.  He hoped it meant that he’d simply become distracted with an experiment rather than anything more serious.

John woke to a tapping at the window, causing him to bolt up and rush to open it.  A barn owl sat on the sill, a piece of parchment tied on her leg.  As soon as he removed it, she took off into the morning.  Once he’d unrolled and read it, he snagged his dressing gown and rushed out into the sitting room in search of Sherlock.  When he wasn’t to be found out there for a second day in a row, John took the stairs two at a time and threw open Cecelia’s door.

Sherlock was just finishing changing a wiggling Cecelia and whipped around at John’s entrance.  When he realized who it was, his shoulders relaxed and he returned to his task.  “Good morning, John.  Give me a moment and we’ll be done here.”

He came to stand at Sherlock’s side, waving the parchment in front of him.  He paused to take turns in laying a kiss on both Sherlock and Cecelia’s cheeks before passing it to him and taking up Cecelia.  “I contacted McGonagall yesterday and she’s got us all settled with Ollivander.  School’s already started up, so he shouldn’t be nearly as busy right now, and we can head over to get your wand whenever you want.”

Sherlock finished cleaning up the changing table and glanced over the parchment.  “Oh.  Um.  Excellent.  I suppose.”

“We can go when you’re ready, love,” John replied as he wrapped his free arm around Sherlock’s waist.  Sherlock shivered slightly, but he shook his head.

“No, we should go.  Today.”  His face was determined when he looked at John.  “We can see if Mrs. Hudson can watch Cecelia and go immediately.”

With a nod and a smile, John gave his waist a squeeze.  “Alright.  Today.  Guess we’re going to Diagon Alley.”

~~~

A little over an hour later, John and Sherlock emerged from their cab outside of the Leaky Cauldron.  Blinking up at it, Sherlock glanced between John and the pub as John paid and came to his side.  He laid a hand on Sherlock’s lower back, causing him to jump before easing back into the touch.

“You good?” he asked, giving him a slight nudge and walking towards the entrance.  Sherlock quickly followed.

“I wasn’t aware the entrance to Diagon Alley was at the same pub where…”  Sherlock trailed off, uncertain how much he should say about the case that brought them here.  John shrugged and led him towards the back of the pub.

“We could have Apparated right in there, but it’s easier if we both can do it, and since we’re already in London and you’re basically the equivalent of a first year…”  John grinned as Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

"We need to work on your teaching methods, John,” he muttered while John chuckled at him.  “While the majority of the time they are perfectly adequate, at others you could do well with better encouragement.”

Slipping his hand around Sherlock’s waist, John replied, “Hmm, I think we can arrange something that would be mutually beneficial, don’t you?”

Before Sherlock could reply, a voice interrupted them, causing them both to turn.  “John?  John Watson?”

The man who approached them was only a bit shorter than Sherlock, slight in build with the beginnings of a gut hidden under a jumper reminiscent of what John would wear.  He approached them with a broad grin on his face, his bright red hair brilliant in the dimly lit room.

“Ron Weasley!”  They clasped each other in a hug, John slapping his shoulder in greeting.  “Jesus, you look well.  I haven’t seen you in years, but I’d recognize you in a second.”

“I’d heard from Harry that you were finally back with us,” Ron said as he pulled away.  He glanced him up and down and shook his head.  “You look well yourself.  Where’ve you been keeping yourself, then?  Mum and Dad’ll be thrilled to hear you’re ‘round again, you’ll have to come over sometime.”

“Ah, you know.”  John moved back to Sherlock’s side.  “Went off to join another war, as you do, then I met this one.  It’s been…complicated, to say the least, but I think we’ve finally got it mostly worked out.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock explained at Ron’s confused expression at him, holding out a hand for Ron to shake.  “I’m his…ah…”

“Partner,” John interrupted.  “Finally.  Took us long enough.”  John snatched up Sherlock’s hand, giving it a squeeze while Sherlock blinked down at him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Ron replied, grinning widely between them.  He waved toward the direction where they originally had been headed.  “I’d love to stay and chat the day away with you blokes, but unfortunately I’ve got a shop to run.  You headed into Diagon Alley?”

“We are.  We’re got to Ollivanders to get Sherlock a wand.”

“Not just the wand, John,” Sherlock interrupted, his eyes brightening in excitement.  “I want to stop in to Flourish and Blotts to see what books they may have that you don’t and the apothecary wouldn’t be remiss either.  I’ve barely had the chance to try my hand at potions but your materials are practically ancient.”

“Yes, well, not much time for potions when I’m busy chasing after you and pretending I’m not a wizard.”  He shook his head and sighed.  “Potions in the flat.  Should have expected this.  Just make sure you keep anything dangerous away from Cecelia, yeah?”

“Of course, John.”  His face turned scandalized at the thought.  “I would never put Cecelia at risk, you know that.”

John squeezed his hand.  “I know.  She’s on her way to being as curious as you, though, so I also know you’ll want to take the safer opportunities to show her whatever you can.”

“You can never start teaching children too early,” Sherlock declared.  “But I’ll make sure I’ve perfected whatever I show her before doing so and take all necessary precautions.”

“Course you will.”  He knocked into Sherlock’s shoulder, causing him to smile down at John.  Ron chuckled and when they looked over at him, he was watching them with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression.

“Ah, new love,” Ron sighed, leading them as they continued to the back of the pub.  “Disgusting.  Ginny was right when she said the two of you were practically married already.”

“And that was before we even got together,” John added.  Ron tapped the appropriate sequence of brinks and Sherlock watched in silent fascination as the wall shifted to reveal Diagon Alley.  He would have remained frozen at the entrance if John hadn’t pulled him along by the hand.  Letting him gape at his surroundings in peace, he turned back to Ron.  “You said something about opening a shop?”

“Yeah, I help George out with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.  Ever since Fred…”  He shrugged and John saw him take a deep breath.  “Well, it’s too much for one person to run on their own, so he asked me to help not long after the war.  I’ve pretty much been in charge of the one down here while George covers the one in Hogsmeade.  The old owners of Zonko’s sold to us when they decided to retire and with Angelina already working in Edinburgh anyway, it made the most sense.  Besides, this leaves me nearby the Ministry to pop in and pester my loved ones when they need pestering.”

“Naturally.”  John spotted Gringotts and pulled them to a stop just as Sherlock nearly shot off into a random shop.  “This is us.  Need to change over some Muggle money before we can do anything else.  It’s been great seeing you again, Ron.”

They shook hands again as Ron nodded enthusiastically.  “Definitely.  I was serious about you stopping over – everyone would love to see you again and meet Sherlock.  Merlin, you’ve never even met Rose and Hugo!”

“That’d be great – besides, nobody’s met my Cecelia yet either.  I’ll send you an owl, yeah?”  Ron agreed and waved his farewell before disappearing into the crowd, his hair occasionally popping through the heads in a burst of colour.  John brought Sherlock’s attention back to him by prodding him in the side.  “Oi, you in there, love?”

“How is this even here?” Sherlock muttered, his eyes enormous.  “There are solid buildings in this area, I know it, and yet we passed through a single wall and the entire environment has completely changed.  How did they manage it without any Muggles noticing?  Don’t they realize it’s here, feel it, hear it, anything?”

“I guess you could say they see but they don’t observe.”  When Sherlock glared down at him, he grinned and used the opportunity to yank Sherlock into the bank.  His gaping continued but he managed to contain his questions for the time being.  The goblin who changed their pounds into wizarding coins eyed Sherlock as he stared him down, obviously uncomfortable with the attention.  They quickly finished up and returned to the mid-morning sunshine outside, Sherlock nearly vibrating in his excitement.

“Right, so Ollivanders is down there.”  John pointed down the street and Sherlock’s head darted around in an attempt to spot it.  “But the apothecary is right across from it and Flourish and Blotts is not much further down.  I’ve just got to pop in to the post office to organize getting owl mail services at 221b and then we can go wherever you want.”

They started through the crowd, attached by the hand and with John leading the way.  “Why don’t we just buy an owl for the flat instead?  Surely that’s easier than having to contact the wizarding post whenever we need to send something by owl.”

John barked out a laugh while ducking around a broom handle.  “Right, and explain that to Mrs. Hudson how?  Believe me, it’s easier to do it this way.  Less work for us since there’s already a baby in the flat who needs taking care of.”  When they finally reached the office’s entrance, John released Sherlock’s hand.  “Give me a mo and I’ll have this sorted, alright?  Be right back.”  He made his way into the building, leaving Sherlock to observe the owls inside from there.

“Your friend is awfully familiar.”  A light, cheerful voice from his left made Sherlock jump.  Beside him stood a woman, close to Harry’s age, her shockingly white blonde hair braided long down her back.  She wore a peasant dress of varying shades that danced and shimmered in the light.  Situated on her hip was a small boy, perhaps five years old, with long-lashed brown eyes that stared up at Sherlock in curiosity.  She readjusted his position in her arms, shooting him a tiny grin before turning back to look into the post office.  “I’m certain I’ve never seen you before, however.”

“I’ve never been here, but John has.”  Sherlock turned back so that he was watching his shape move around through the spaces between the seated owls.  “He was in the Order and fought in the war.  And as soon as he was finished with one, he threw himself into another.”  Shaking his head, he frowned at his reflection.  “I don’t understand how he’s done all that on top of putting up with me, but he’s fantastic for it.”

“Ah, John Watson.  I remember him now.”  He noticed as she finally turned to face him that her wand was tucked behind her left ear.  She was smiling serenely, swaying the child back and forth without really paying attention to what she was doing.  “He’s been in the Muggle world for some time now.  Are you the reason he’s come back?”

“I…”  Sherlock blinked down at the woman, her fascinated gaze slightly disconcerting.  She waited patiently for his answer, her smile growing as he fumbled for words.  He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders.  “Partially, yes.  Why do you ask?  Did you know him back then?”

She cocked her head, loosening a strand of hair to fall against her face.  Her expression remained soft even when the child she held started to squirm in her grip.  “Yes.  I’m glad he’s back.  It’s good that he found you.”  She set the boy down and patted his head before he darted off, throwing himself into the open arms of a man nearby.  She began to hum to herself and made to follow him, but Sherlock stepped into her path.

“Wait, how would you know?  Who are you?”

She looked over his shoulder and smiled.  “You brought him back to the wizarding world, didn’t you?  Certainly that’s enough of a reason to believe that your presence in his life is for the good.”  Giving him a final wave and nod in parting, she walked to the man and child, a second boy the same age popping out around the man’s leg.  Before Sherlock could call out to her, John spoke behind him.

“Met Luna, have you?” he asked.  At Sherlock’s baffled expression, John raised a brow at him.  “Yeah, she does that to people.  Don’t worry about it, she’s a bit of an original.  Good to see she’s settled down with someone, though.”

“John, just how many people do you know in this world?” Sherlock asked.  They headed down and across the street to Flourish and Blotts, John pushing the door open for Sherlock.  After the constant noise of the street itself, the peace of the bookshop became a relief.  “It seems as though each time we turn around, we’re running into someone who recognizes you, despite how long it’s been since you’ve been a part of this world.”

John rubbed at the back of his neck as he absentmindedly scanned the shelves.  “Yeah, well…part of that’s Hogwarts, part of it being a member of the Order and fighting in the resistance.  And I mean, I didn’t _completely_ cut myself off from the wizarding world.”

Pausing in the middle of grabbing a book, Sherlock spun to look at him.  “That’s true.  I hadn’t thought about it, given the fact that we were distracted with the case at the time, but that metamorphmagus friend of yours, Teddy, had obviously seen you recently, and Harry and his family knew you more intimately for who you are now.  You must have remained somewhat connected to the wizarding world, at least to a small extent.”

With a sigh, John leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear.  “Look, I…we’ll talk about this, I promise.  Just not here, yeah?  We’re having a nice date, I don’t really want to bring it down by talking about all of this.”

Sherlock shivered at John’s breath at his neck, but when his words made it through his distracted thoughts, he blinked in confusion.  “This is a date?”

“Sure it is.”  John winked and leaned against a shelf, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed Sherlock up and down.  “Two people who like each other going out and having a good time.  Aren’t you having a good time?”

“Of course, it’s just we hadn’t actually discussed – “  He was cut off by John leaning forward to kiss him.  Sherlock’s straight posture instantly slumped down and toward John.

“Sorry I hadn’t made it more clear,” John muttered when he pulled away, his lips still close to Sherlock’s.  “Sherlock Holmes, my boyfriend, my dear, my lovely man, would you like to go on a date to Diagon Alley with me?”

John grinned wider when Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “It’s counterproductive to ask me out on the date when we’ve been on it for hours, John.”

“Just say yes, you nutter.”

“Yes, fine, alright.”  Sherlock’s mouth twitched as he fought not to smile.  “But…boyfriend?  Is there really no better word for it than that?  We sound like we’re teenagers.”

“Oi, give me the boyfriend card,” John said, kissing him briefly once more before pulling away.  “I haven’t been able to say I had one in years.  Not since Hogwarts, actually.”

Sherlock returned his gaze to the books, but his attention remained on John.  “So you’ve had boyfriends before, then?”

“Yeah, a few.”  At the slight huff Sherlock let out in reply, John chuckled.  “That’s right, I’ve had boyfriends.  Not gay doesn’t mean heterosexual, you know.  I thought you figured that all out ages ago.”

“I knew, I just wasn’t sure if you accepted it.”  Pulling out a book, Sherlock leafed through it and set it aside.  “So then you’re…”

“Bisexual, yes.  Doesn’t tend to come up very often because it’s always felt like a bit of a taboo word when I was a kid, particularly when I was in the Muggle world.  It was like you weren’t gay enough for one community but not straight enough for the other, you know?  It got better once I got to Hogwarts, but there were still mutterings the first time Matthias and I walked into the Great Hall hand in hand.  He was a Ravenclaw and a bit of a dick now that I think about it – kind of reminds me of you without the charm and caring about others, and not nearly as smart.”

Giving a sniff, Sherlock rejected another book and moved to look at the ones lining the stairs.  “Hardly anyone is, John.  Thankfully, you don’t have to deal with dating idiots any longer.”

“Oh yes, thank God I’ve found _my_ genius.”  Sherlock fairly glowed at the comment.  “What about you?  At first I thought you just weren’t interested in anyone, but then with Irene and the signals you’ve sent me, I was never sure.”

“The Woman.  All women are beyond my predilection, John.  Even her attention to me really only extended to my mind – even if I had been interested, I doubt she would have followed through on her threats, at least not without something worthwhile in it for her.”  He sank down to sit on one of the steps and John came to rest on the one below him.  “My dating background is slim, but it has always been with men.  I’ve never truly been in what you could call a traditional or even official relationship, however.”

Placing a hand on Sherlock’s knee, John gave it a pat.  “Well, you are now, although ‘traditional’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use for anything that involves us.  You’re doing fantastic so far, if that’s any reassurance.”  Sherlock smiled down at him in reply.

From around his shoulder, John spotted the corner of a book that caught his attention.  He leaned around him to snatch it up, uncovering a plain looking book whose cover was worn with age.  Its spine, though showing no signs of having been opened regularly, appeared ripped and faded as though other books had been moved around it more than it had ever been noticed.  More than anything, however, its title intrigued John.  Though the letters were worn, he saw something about Hogwarts and his excitement grew when he opened it to the title page and read it in full.

“Sherlock, this may be exactly what we’re looking for.”  Flipping it around, he shoved it into Sherlock’s face.  He watched as Sherlock read the title and lower the book, his expression excited.

“ _Entering Hogwarts: Histories and Backgrounds Behind the United Kingdom’s Most Illustrious School._ John, this is it.  This has to have more information about the quill and the question marks.”

“Well, let’s add it to the pile of books to take.”  John snatched it up before Sherlock could get too engrossed in the book, tucking it under his arm and pulling Sherlock to his feet with him.  “What else were you after?  Did you want to find more potion texts while we’re here?”

His eyes widened at the suggestion and John laughed, leading him in the right direction.  They spent the next hour exploring the bookstore, gradually adding to Sherlock’s pile of books and even finding a few that John had never encountered before.  When they’d found enough to keep Sherlock properly amused on caseless days for at least a month, John brought their collection to the till and attempted to pay.  He was distracted by Sherlock’s fascination with the wizarding coins, however, and was forced to pass over one of each for his inspection before he continued.  While Sherlock amused himself with the money, John organized for them to retrieve their purchases at the end of the day and dragged him outside.

“It’s only coins, then?” Sherlock demanded, his focus still on them even as they reentered the street to go to the apothecary.  “What’s their worth?”

John shuffled through the three types, pointed them out as he mentioned them.  “Your Galleons are the most, at seventeen Sickles or something like five hundred Knuts to one and around five pounds give or take exchange rates.  Sickles are the silver ones and have twenty-nine Knuts to it, and a bit more than twenty p in Muggle money.  Then you’ve got your Knut and that’s basically a penny.  This is it for us, yeah, and you’re out of luck if you want to use a card.”

Sherlock handed the coins back with a frown.  “I fail to understand why the wizarding world is so backwards.  You cannot tell me no one has tried to bring something of the twenty-first century into all of this.  For God’s sake, I saw McGonagall using a quill while we were at Hogwarts – do ballpoint pens interfere with magic too?”

“Yeah, I don’t understand it any more than you do, honestly.  It’s just sort of always how it’s been.  I’ve never heard of magic working with technology or anything like that, but I’ve also never heard of anyone trying to make them work together.  Can you imagine if it did, though?  Wi-Fi at Hogwarts, using a mobile for spells, connecting your potion to your laptop to track its progress…if someone could get it to work, it could revitalize the wizarding world and how things are done.”

“Surely there’s a way to bring them together and make sure they both still work.”  His eyebrows contorted in thought and he sighed.  “If I knew more about magic…”

“Take it as an opportunity to learn.  Hey, you might be able to see something the rest of us can’t, between your background knowledge in science and studying magic at an older age.  It could help you learn it easier that way too, if you were to come at it from a scientific approach.”

“That’s even if I can get magic to work properly for me to begin with.”  As they entered the apothecary, Sherlock ran a hand through his hair in agitation.  John pulled him aside and put a hand on his upper arm, rubbing his thumb into the muscle with soothing circles.

“Hey, don’t think like that.  You’ve got it in you and you’ll make it work.  We’ll work on it together, just like we do everything.”  When Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged a shoulder in acknowledgement.  “Most everything.  Everything from now on, at the very least.”

“Together.  Yes.”  Sherlock straightened his spine and his razor focus narrowed on the goods surrounding them.  “Now then.  Where are the cauldrons?”

With the help of the friendly shop owner, Sherlock made his way around and collected everything he sought.  John could tell she didn’t often find such an enthusiastic patron as she led Sherlock from product to product, describing their best uses and giving her personal suggestions.  By the time they reached the back of the shop, Sherlock’s collection was double the size of what they’d found at Flourish and Blotts.  While John counted out the appropriate coins, Sherlock and the owner organized a system for Sherlock to receive replenished supplies of necessary ingredients when he ran out.  They left with promises to come back for their purchases later and an address for direct owl post orders in Sherlock’s pocket.

“That’s the only other place you mentioned, right?” John asked.  “We’ve just got Ollivanders left now?”

Sherlock glanced down the street to where the wand shop sat.  “Yes.  Just Ollivanders now.”

John took his hand again and squeezed.  “You ready?”  Sherlock’s only response was to nod, and John guided him to their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the layout of Diagon Alley from the movie rather than what it shows on Pottermore, since I've been to the studio tour twice and had a better idea of how it was set up. I took a lot of inspiration for my adult Ron from the actor who plays him in Cursed Child, Paul Thornley, because he is perfect. Also, welcome to the first cliffhanger, in which y'all get to wait for the Wand Chapter because of who I am as a human being.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Sherlock's wand to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S WAND TIME BITCHES. Thanks as always to [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) for the beta!

The shop was empty when they entered it.  John led a resilient Sherlock up to the counter where a small bell sat.  He tapped it with a palm and a soft trio of notes rang out above them.  A rustling came from one of the long, wand covered rows and in a moment, a scraggly head peered around a far corner.  When the man came fully around the corner, he held a wand box in one hand and was settling a pair of crooked glasses over his nose.

“Mr. Holmes,” he remarked when he reached the counter.  Sherlock spared a quick glance at John before nodding his acknowledgement.  The man cocked his head to the side in thought before opening the box to inspect its contents.  “Minerva told me to expect you.  And that you may be a…special case.”

Sherlock bristled at the comment, but he relaxed slightly when John rubbed the small of his back.  Breathing out a small sigh, Sherlock replied, “Yes.  Will you be able to find me a wand?”

The man raised a single bushy brow at him.  “Mr. Holmes, there has never been a witch or wizard to walk through those doors who did not leave in possession of a wand.  Garrick Ollivander, at your service.”  Ollivander eyed John, fingering the box while inspecting him.  “John Watson.  Cedar, phoenix feather core, nine and a quarter inches.  Firm.  Does it treat you well?”

“Never had a problem in my life,” John said and Ollivander gave him a brisk nod.  With delicate hands, he snatched up the wand from the box, eyes narrowing on it before passing it handle side first to Sherlock.

“Hazel, unicorn mare hair, twelve inches.  A bit of give to it, but solid when it’s in the right hands.”  When Sherlock simply stared at it, Ollivander gestured at him to take it.  “Go on, then.  Give it a wave.”

John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s spine, attempting to reassure him.  “You won’t know if it works unless you try.  Trust Ollivander; he knows what he’s doing.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, but gradually he reached out to take the wand.  He glanced around him and finally focused on the now empty wand box.  Copying the swish and flick motions he’d learned the day before, he waved the wand and they waited for a response.

The box remained still on the table, the rest of the shop equally unaffected.  Sherlock lowered the wand with a heavy arm and set it on the counter.  His face remained blank in an attempt at indifference, but John saw his fist clench and release at his side, an echo of the same motion John did when agitated.  Ollivander either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it as he placed the wand back in its box.

“Hmm…perhaps…” Ollivander muttered to himself under his breath, darting down a row of different shelves and squinting at them.  He shot Sherlock a look before replacing the first wand and pulling down another.  He started to turn back before freezing in his tracks, snatching up a nearby stepstool and dragging it further down the aisle.  He climbed to the top of it once he’d placed it to his satisfaction and reached up on tiptoes, his fingers tapping from box to box as he searched.  Finally he grabbed a second wand and descended, coming back to place both of them before Sherlock.

“Ebony, unicorn tail hair, eleven and two-thirds inches,” he declared, sliding the first box across to him.  “Much more relenting.  If not, we’ll try this one.”  Ollivander pulled off the lid and shoved it towards Sherlock, silently requesting Sherlock take his offering.

This time Sherlock grabbed it immediately, but simply held it in a too-tight grasp for a long moment.  Eventually he let out a breath and waved it, no specific motion or focal point for the spell in mind.  On the wall next to them, one of the lamps flickered slightly, but the change was so small that it was hard to tell if it came from Sherlock or simply the building settling and the candle stuttering in reply.  When nothing else happened, he put the wand on the counter with a growl.

“A determined one,” Ollivander tutted, but if nothing else his expression turned thrilled at the prospect of a challenge.  “Not to worry, Mr. Holmes, we’ll find you one yet.  The right wand will call out for you eventually, I’m certain of it.”  He pushed the second wand aside and moved on to the next one.  “Now then, let’s see if this one does it.  Blackthorn, also unicorn tail hair, eleven and a half inches.  Stiff as a board, this one.  Perhaps that’s what you need, a bit of force to act against.”

Glaring down at the offered wand, Sherlock snatched it up and waved it before either John or Ollivander had the chance to realize.  A loud pop resounded through the shop and a grey cloud of smoke surrounded the three of them, causing all of them to cough.  Sherlock blinked at the wand and gently placed it back into its box, taking a step back into John’s space.  Ollivander, meanwhile, looked elated.

“That’s closer!  It’s certainly something.  You’ve got the magic, Mrs. Holmes, that’s obvious, it’s simply finding a combination that has the right temperament for your _sort_ of magic.  Perhaps a different core…”

Tucking the boxes under his arm, he set off in search once more, mumbling to himself.  Sherlock turned to face John, his arms crossed over his chest in a manner that was both defensive and protective.  “Does it always go like this?  Just trying random wands until one works?  And how do you even tell if it’s the right one?  There’s hardly any rhyme or reason to all of this.”

John shrugged.  “Not much different than how it went for me, honestly.  I told you, Ollivander knows what he’s doing.  He’s made each of these wands himself, used to even go out and fetch the woods and cores before he started getting on in age, and he’s got the feel of what will work for everyone.  Sometimes it take a few fuck ups to find the right combination, sure, but he inevitably gets the one eventually.”

Sherlock sighed and hung his head.  “Should it take this long?  How many will I have to try before we find it?”

“Well, it took nearly half a dozen before we got mine.”  At Sherlock’s shocked expression, John laughed.  “Relax.  If it’s gonna work out the way it should, it might take time.  You’ve only tried three wands, love, and there are thousands in here.  We won’t leave until we find the one that picks you.”

Sherlock shivered and John was about to ask if he was okay when Ollivander returned, this time laden with four different boxes.  He shuffled through them and tossed one at Sherlock, who just barely managed to catch it.

“Give that a go.  Cyprus, dragon heartstring this time, ten and a half inches.  I think we might have better luck with this particular core.”

John took the box as Sherlock pulled out the wand, this time moving more carefully as he waved it.  The wand seemed to consider cooperating for a moment, the tip lightening for a brief moment in a hint of a Lumos, but seconds later one of the lamps exploded instead.  The three of them ducked out of the way of flying glass and candle wax, Sherlock dropping the wand as though it was a living creature, and Ollivander patted at his sleeve where a bit of flame had caught at it.  John quickly moved to put the wand where it belonged, sliding the box across the countertop with a cautious hand.

“Aha!” Ollivander declared.  “A step in the right direction!  So it’s dragon heartstring you want, but now for the wood…”  Ollivander squinted at the labels on the other three he had brought down, trading out one box for another.  “Try this.  Vine, dragon heartstring, eleven and one-eighth inches.  Flexible.”

John and Sherlock made quick eye contact and John took a step back.  This time, Sherlock took up the wand even more gingerly, barely moving it when he finally waved it.  Instantly the wand box stuttered across the counter, suddenly shooting off and slamming into the opposite wall.  A few other boxes clattered to the floor, jostled loose by the motion, and John just managed to jump out of the way when one of the falling boxes opened and its wand shot sparks as it tumbled out.  While Sherlock collected the wand’s original box, Ollivander and John began searching for the ones that fell.  Ollivander froze when he grabbed one of them, his eyes narrowing down at it.  He glanced between Sherlock and the wand before bringing it to him, placing it directly into Sherlock’s hand.

“Sycamore, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarters inches.  Springy without being too loose.  I’m almost certain about this one.”

As soon as the wand was in his hand, Sherlock felt it radiating a soft warmth.  He gaped down at it, momentarily stunned by the tingling he felt in his fingers, and at last waved it in a wide arc in front of him.  A trail of silver stars, sparkling like miniature fireworks, followed in the wake of the motion.  His face lit up in an instant, delighted grin as they shimmered before him, blinking out one by one.

“That’s it,” he muttered, beaming down at the wand.  “This is the one.  That’s exactly what I was imagining it would do.”

John rushed forward to inspect it closer.  Most of it was made of a lighter coloured wood, completely smooth and an almost honey brown shade.  The lighter section was thinner than most wands, almost lethal looking in how sharp its point became at the end.  The handle, meanwhile, was almost black, with a long oval base that moved into a more gradually sloping and curved edge.  Along the base where the two shades of wood met was a carving of runes, nothing John recognized off the top of his head.  The whole look of it was needlessly flashy but beautiful, perfectly fitted to Sherlock.

Ollivander’s expression became smug and pleased as he stacked the remaining wand boxes into a pile in his arms.  “Every witch or wizard who comes into my shop finds their wand, Mr. Holmes,” he repeated.  His smile widened when Sherlock cradled the wand to his chest.  “It would appear that you are more of a wizard than you originally thought.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said sincerely, surprising John.  “I…thank you.”

Pursing his lips, Ollivander paused in his organizing up to study Sherlock closer.  “I simply found the means to your end, Mr. Holmes, nothing else.  But given what Minerva told me of you, I shouldn’t be surprised a sycamore came to you.”  He set aside the boxes and took up Sherlock’s wand, holding it poised between them to observe it.  “Sycamore needs excitement and adventure, thrives on curiosity and learning, and doesn’t do well when ignored.  You’d best not bore it; otherwise you’ll find yourself with a combusting wand seeking amusement.  Give it the proper attention, however, and you’ll discover that you both will find success.”

John wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s neck, laughing low as he pulled him close to kiss him.  “Excitement, adventure, curiosity…it even throws a tantrum if you ignore it.  You managed to pair yourself with a wand that’s just as much of a drama queen as you are.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the smile still hadn’t left his face.  Ollivander finished taking away the other wands and packaged Sherlock’s, John taking care of paying while Sherlock simply continued to clutch it close.  Just as they were about to leave, Ollivander cleared his throat.

“Your concerns, while understandable given your history, have proven to be irrelevant.  Though you may think your trip here took longer than it ought, I very often find myself trying just as many wands with the first years who come to me fresh from receiving their Hogwarts letters.  The ability or strength of the individual magic has nothing to do with the process of discovering one’s wand, Mr. Holmes – if the magic exists, the wand can tap into it.  Oftentimes it’s more a problem of the confidence of the caster that stands in their way.  Once they realize they are capable and worthy, the wand finds them as it should.”

Sherlock frowned but nodded his thanks.  They left the relative quiet of the wand shop and reemerged onto the street that screamed with noise.  John stopped him just next to the door, pulling him aside and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

"You’ve got a wand,” he murmured, smiling up at him.  The box lay jammed between the two of them, still held tightly enough in Sherlock’s grip that his knuckles turned white.  Sherlock stared at the box, his hand trapped with it in the heat between their bodies.  A corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile when he raised his eyes to John’s.

“I’ve got a wand,” he confirmed, giddiness lighting up his face.  “I’m a wizard.”

John laughed breathlessly and kissed him fiercely.  “You are.  C’mon, let’s pick up our things and head home.  Time to start doing this magic thing for real, yeah?”

Linking hands with John, Sherlock’s only answer was to yank John down the road behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for how the wand looks came from [this beauty](https://www.google.com/search?q=wand&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjDpIr9nZPRAhVq0oMKHXTVBicQ_AUICCgB&biw=1440&bih=755#imgrc=9dDX_Fqv0Gup6M%3A) I found on Google. Obviously I changed the color slightly and substituted runes (which will be explained later) for the Celtic designs, but it was so pretty that I fell in love with it. As for the wood, I used the [Pottermore wand woods site](https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/wand-woods) like I did with John's in FI. These woods were all possible options I wrote down when selecting a wood, but as soon as I read sycamore's description, I KNEW it had to be Sherlock's. 
> 
> "The sycamore makes a questing wand, eager for new experience and losing brilliance if engaged in mundane activities. It is a quirk of these handsome wands that they may combust if allowed to become ‘bored,’ and many witches and wizards, settling down into middle age, are disconcerted to find their trusty wand bursting into flame in their hand as they ask it, one more time, to fetch their slippers. As may be deduced, the sycamore’s ideal owner is curious, vital and adventurous, and when paired with such an owner, it demonstrates a capacity to learn and adapt that earns it a rightful place among the world's most highly-prized wand woods."
> 
> Like. Tell me that doesn't scream Sherlock Holmes.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides it's finally time to approach Sherlock about his sleeping habits after another night in bed alone. Revelations are had, understandings are made, and when they finally get down to working on Sherlock's magic, they discover something unexpected about the Holmes family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how about that ep lads?! Ironically there's a line in this chapter that is basically said in tst, which is mad because I wrote this in November. Anyway, there's another attempt at smut coming your way and fair warning, my awesome as always beta [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) did a fair bit of yelling at me over some of the shit said in this chapter. ;) Enjoy!

If John had expected their day at Diagon Alley to end with the two of them in Sherlock’s bed, he found himself sadly disappointed.  Once all of their purchases were collected, they stopped in the Leaky Cauldron for a late lunch on the way out before heading back to Baker Street.  Sherlock spent the rest of the day cross-legged and leaning against the bottom edge of the sofa, his new collection of wizarding items spread out on the floor before him.  John plopped Cecelia into his lap when it was time to start dinner, and by the time he returned to bring them both in once it was done, he found Cecelia seated happily exactly where John left her as Sherlock showed her a drawing in one of his books.

After Cecelia was bathed and put in her bed for the night, John dragged Sherlock to the sofa.  They tangled themselves together on it, John leaning against the arm with Sherlock stretched on his back between his legs.  While John toyed with the fine hairs at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, Sherlock held his wand before his face, alternating between squirming in John’s grip and inspecting it.

“What do the runes mean?” he eventually asked, but John felt smug at the breathless quality to his voice.  He suspected the question was half genuine and half a way to divert John away from his mission to distract him, so for the moment he played along.  The hand at Sherlock’s nape moved to take the wand and he brought it closer to inspect it.

“I’m not sure.  I never took Ancient Runes, so I don’t really know much about this sort of thing.  Would it be in any of the books you picked up today?”

Sherlock settled himself further into John’s chest, burrowing his bum into the cushion.  “Hopefully.  I had already picked up one on runes of some sort before we even went to Ollivanders simply because it looked fascinating.  I should have asked Ollivander before we left.”

“He probably would have just told you to find out for yourself; that tends to be how he is.”  John removed the wand to the coffee table and wrapped both arms around Sherlock.  He snuffled into his neck, humming low in his throat.  “It’s still early, but we could turn in now.”  Rubbing his nose slowly against his neck, John managed to shift around Sherlock’s collar and reach the spot where neck met shoulder.  He started running his lips over the small patch of skin, not exactly kissing the spot but hinting at it as he spoke against him.  “If you’re interested.”

Sherlock’s spine arched at the contact, his breath growing ragged against the areas where their bodies pressed together.  He placed his hands over John’s at his waist, his nails digging into the skin.  John took that as a sign to continue and brushed his lips higher up on Sherlock’s neck.  He still kept himself from actually kissing the skin, doing no more than drawing the tip of his tongue out occasionally to barely taste.  At the gasp the move drew from Sherlock, John couldn’t help but grin against him and travelled up to kiss directly behind his ear.  Goosebumps instantly formed in the kiss’ wake, resulting in Sherlock guiding John’s hands up his own chest.

“John,” Sherlock murmured, running John’s palms over the silk of his button-down.  John let him do what he wanted with his hands, focusing on trailing his mouth back down Sherlock’s neck once more.  This time, he peppered each new spot with wet kisses, hinting at tiny bites at random moments to make Sherlock’s hips hitch up into open air.

John managed to take back one of his hands from Sherlock’s slackening grip, putting it to the more focused task of revealing more skin.  He slipped the first two buttons of Sherlock’s shirt open and shifted the fabric, revealing his shoulder fully to John’s lips.  John latched on instantly, laving his tongue and grazing his lips over the area, and Sherlock melted into him.  Sherlock head leaned into the back of the sofa, allowing John better access.  While helpful, the movement shifted John closer to the sofa’s edge and, without realizing it, he went from reaching around to suck a bruise into the top of his shoulder to almost biting into the bony area as he abruptly tipped over the side.

He managed to stop himself before he completely fell off, his elbow catching on the coffee table and slowing him enough to reach out a hand to brace himself.  He ended up with his top half on the floor, one of his shoulders digging into the carpet.  Sherlock, meanwhile, let out a yelp and would have followed if John hadn’t wrapped his ankles around Sherlock’s to anchor him in place.  As it was, he’d turned slightly as they tumbled, using a hand to grab the coffee table so that only his bared shoulder followed John’s descent to the floor.  He wiggled his waist around in John’s lap in an attempt to right himself, causing John to groan and him to freeze.

“I’m fine, just.”  He waved at his waist, where his erection was jammed into Sherlock’s hip.  “Sensitive.”

A muttering, followed by the distinct sounds of shuffling blankets and a babbling baby on the verge of tears, brought both of their attentions to the baby monitor on the mantle.  John sighed, rubbing a hand awkwardly over his face.

“Hold still,” Sherlock declared and John did as he was told.  Using the hand supported by the coffee table, Sherlock gingerly managed to shift himself into a sitting position up on the sofa.  Once stable, he reached down and hauled John up as well.  As soon as John settled, Sherlock jumped to his feet.

“I’ll take care of Cecelia,” he declared and before John could say anything, he shot up the stairs.  John sat on the sofa attempting to calm his breathing and listened to the monitor.  He heard Sherlock murmuring to Cecelia, too low for John to tell what he was saying from across the room, and the deep groan of the rocking chair as it started to move.  When he felt he could walk without any wayward body parts interfering, he let out a sigh and set out to get ready for bed.

When he brought the monitor into the bedroom with him, he assumed that Sherlock would come down shortly.  He lay down so that he was facing it on its spot on the bedside table.  Sherlock’s voice, fuzzy from speaking over the monitor, spoke almost constantly, the rhythmic creaking of the chair just below it.  When John heard his name, he shot up to lean on his elbow, pulling the monitor closer and increasing the volume.

“…all this, hmm?” Sherlock was saying.  Cecelia mumbled, the noise sleepy and distant.  Sherlock sighed and his clothes rustled as he moved, crackling over the speaker and making John wince.  “He’d think I’m being ridiculous, I’m sure.  I can’t help worrying that something’s going to go wrong.”

John frowned and turned the volume back down.  He couldn’t help but feel he’d heard something of significance just now, but he didn’t entirely understand what.  Deciding to bring it up in the morning, John turned out the light and hoped Sherlock would join him soon.

~~~

The next morning, John found himself alone once again.  His determination to discuss the issue with Sherlock grew as he set about readying himself for the day.  When he didn’t find Sherlock in the kitchen or sitting room, he made two mugs of tea and headed up to Cecelia’s room.

Somehow Sherlock had managed to curl himself into an almost ball on the rocking chair, his head resting on one of the arms and one leg tucked up under him.  A few of his new books sat stacked next to him and one of them rested open on his lap.  That proof that he had at one point returned downstairs and chosen to come back up to Cecelia’s rather than go to bed further concerned John and cemented his decision.  He set the mugs on the changing table and moved to kneel next to the chair, carefully lifting a hand to brush Sherlock’s brow.

Before he could actually touch him, Sherlock jolted awake, knocking the book in his lap to the floor.  The heavy tome thudded loudly and in seconds Cecelia was awake and screeching her displeasure.  When Sherlock made to stand, John put a hand on his knee and shook his head to stop him.

“You stay put, I’ve got it.”  John rose and took her up in his arms, swaying her and shushing in her ear.  When her tears stopped, he moved to the changing table and grabbed Sherlock’s tea to hand it to him.  “Drink that and don’t move while I change her.  We’ve got something we need to discuss.”

Sherlock sighed, but he took the tea.  “More talking?  How often does this usually happen in relationships?”

"Mm, unfortunately yes.  A side effect to caring for and loving someone, I suppose.”

John heard him put down his mug and stand.  Moments later, long arms folded themselves across his chest and Sherlock rested his forehead between John’s shoulder blades, his front completely plastered to John’s back.  “I can’t make excuses to avoid it when you say things like that,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Turning in his arms so that they were front to front, John nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck and placed a tiny kiss under his jaw.  “Good, my plans for seduction are working then.”  He felt Sherlock’s deep chuckle in his chest.  They stood that way for a few minutes, arms tangled around each other’s waists, until Cecelia let out a shriek.  Sherlock glanced over John’s shoulder, raising an eyebrow down at her.  Her face contorted into a frown and she squirmed in her place on the changing table, palms smacking on the mat in indignation.  Putting his chin on John’s shoulder, Sherlock sighed.

“I refuse to have any conversations while Cecelia pouts,” Sherlock declared, an equal pout on his own face.  “She demands our attention, John, and as her parent you are obligated to give it.  How could I concentrate on whatever it is you wish to discuss if your daughter is in distress?”

“Oh, you’re a regular bleeding heart, you are,” John replied, prodding Sherlock in the stomach to get him to step away.  Once free from his grasp, John turned back to see to Cecelia and Sherlock reattached himself to John’s back.  “She’s fine, just hungry.  Quit leeching yourself all over me and go make her a bottle, we’ll talk while she’s eating.”

Sherlock grumbled but did what he was told, letting go of John to go downstairs.  Once finished changing her, John grabbed Cecelia’s bee and brought her to Sherlock.  He sat in his chair, bottle at the ready, and John passed her over before sitting across from them.  Sherlock fed her as though he’d been doing it from the very start, watching her face as she happily ate.

“So,” John began, decided that straightforward would be best.  “How long are you going to avoid sleeping in the same bed as me?  Just until I bring it up, or are you waiting until you’re dead on your feet from not properly sleeping while helping take care of a baby?”

“Jumping right into it, I see,” Sherlock said in answer, eyes still focused on Cecelia.  “Not even going to provide a fortifying slice of toast beforehand?”

John sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “Look, Sherlock, if you don’t want to share a bed, that’s fine.  I can figure something out in Cecelia’s room if necessary.  But I just figured…well, with how things have been…I just thought that was what you wanted, but I guess I shouldn’t have assumed anything without asking first.”

Sherlock’s forehead knit into thoughtful wrinkles and John could tell that, if not for Cecelia eating in his arms, he would stand up to pace.  “It isn’t that I don’t _want_ to.  I do, truly.”

When he didn’t continue, John leaned toward him out of his chair.  “But…?”

Cecelia wriggled in Sherlock’s arms, so John reached over and put her bee into her free hand.  With one hand on the bottle and the other clutching the bee, she used the toy to rhythmically pound against Sherlock’s chest.  “I’m…worried.  About two things.  It’s ridiculous and I shouldn’t be, but I can’t manage to stop.”

“Okay.  That’s fine.  We’ve dealt with worried before.  Is it something I can help you with?  Something to do with me and what I’m doing?”

“No, of course not.  You’re perfect, John.  You’ve done nothing wrong.”

John threw his arms up in the air in exasperation, his patience finally wearing out.  “Then what the hell is it, Sherlock?  What am I supposed to do to fix this if you won’t even tell me what’s the matter?  If we’re going too fast and you don’t want to…you know…take things further yet, that’s completely fine, but I need to know!”

“No!”  Sherlock jostled the nearly empty bottle as he bolted forward to reassure John.  He settled down again and helped Cecelia take the nipple once more, but his expression remained alarmed.  “No, it’s not that.  I definitely want all of that.”

"Then what’s the problem?” John exploded, rising to his feet.  “Jesus, Sherlock, would you just tell me?”

“I’m afraid something will happen to Cecelia!” Sherlock burst out.  He lowered his face to stare down at her, Cecelia looking back up at him with innocent eyes.  “Mary knew this is where you would come once she was gone.  How do we know that she didn’t organize for someone to come after Cecelia and take her away, even after she was dead?  I cannot risk her being harmed, John, and I cannot rest when I know she’s vulnerable and I know I can watch over her.”

John approached him as he spoke and sat gingerly on the arm of his chair.  Reaching out a hand, he ran it through Sherlock’s curls.  “You should have said something right away.  I’ve already put up enough shields and safeguards around the entire building to make the Ministry jealous.  If anything were to happen to her, or you, my wand would let me know in an instant.  Even when I’m not here, the shields are connected directly to it so that if there was ever a problem, I’d know right away.”  Sherlock leaned into John’s touch and he felt the tension in his scalp ease.  “Now that you’ve got a wand too, I can connect it to the network I’ve set up.  No way is anything going to happen without either of us knowing instantly.”

Sherlock sighed and nodded.  “Thank you.  I should have known you would, but…”

“You love her, and that makes you panic when you think you can’t protect her.”  John kissed the top of his head and moved his hand to the back of his neck.  “I’m the same way. But you can’t just sleep in the rocking chair until she turns eighteen, love.  Trust me, I know.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Sherlock asked abruptly, turning to face John.  The movement dislodged John’s hand and John blinked down at him.  “You keep calling me ‘love.’  Why?”

“Because…I love you?”  Though he meant it to be a statement, it came out more as a question.  Sherlock’s eyes grew wide and his mouth formed a small o, causing John to shake his head in amazement.  “You can’t tell me you didn’t know.  Surely you’ve realized by now that I love you.”

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered and he shuddered.  “I…I assumed you felt some form of affection…but…”

John reached down, took the empty bottle from Cecelia, and pulled her from Sherlock’s slackened arms into his own.  He moved to kneel in the empty space between his spread thighs as he tucked Cecelia into one of his elbows.  With his free hand, he turned Sherlock’s face to his and kissed him, the move slow and deliberate.  Though it was nothing more than lips against lips, Sherlock slumped against John as though he was being pulled against him by an unknown force.  When John finally pulled back, it was only far enough away to nudge his nose against Sherlock’s.

“I love you, God, I love you.  I’ve loved you strong enough to make me erupt with it.  I’ve loved you when I was supposed to love someone else, when I thought I had lost you, when I expected to never feel love again.  I loved you at the start and I’ll love you into the end, beyond it, enough that they’d write stories and sing songs about it if they could comprehend just how much I love you.  I love you so much that I thought you had to understand, to realize from how strongly it felt like it needed to come out and make sure you knew.”

They were close enough that John felt Sherlock’s eyelashes flutter closed against his cheeks.  He opened his mouth to say something in reply, but the only thing that came out was a soft brush of air against John’s lips.  John rubbed his nose against Sherlock’s reassuringly, his hand stroking his jaw, and trembled at the feeling of Sherlock gulping at his touch.

“John,” he finally breathed, wrapping a tight arm around John’s shoulders.  “I’m sorry.  I know and I knew.  I didn’t believe what I felt could be felt in return.  I thought I had gotten it wrong.”

Chuckling, John pulled back to properly look him in the eyes.  “You should know you’re never wrong.”

“Not when it counts,” Sherlock replied.  Tears sat at the corners of his eyes and John lifted a thumb to wipe them away.  Sherlock laughed wetly, a small but genuine noise, and let John take care of him.  They remained that way for several minutes, until Cecelia squirmed in John’s arm, reminding them of her presence.

“Just watched your old da spill his heart out and you haven’t even been burped,” John mumbled down at her.  Sherlock began to chuckle, causing John to join in, and soon the pair of them were falling over each other, taken over by giggles that amounted to nothing more than pure joy.  The tears turned into ones of mirth and they reveled in it.

“Here, pass her back,” Sherlock managed to say once they both had calmed down some.  John creaked to his feet to snatch up the cloth from the back of the chair and draped it over Sherlock’s shoulder.  He watched Sherlock pat Cecelia’s back, the motion familiar, and affection swelled in his chest for both of them.  He moved around to lean against the back of the chair and settled his arm across the top so he could play with Sherlock’s hair once more.

“So what’s the other thing you were worried about?  Did any of that cover it?”

Sherlock nearly purred when John scratched his nails lightly into his nape.  “Partially.  Like I said, it’s ridiculous.  I don’t think it matters anymore.”

“Hey, if it’s something that’s bothering you, I want to know, remember?  This relationship is both of us, and that means you don’t have to deal with things alone.”

Sherlock nodded and moved Cecelia off his shoulder.  “As I told you yesterday, I’ve never been involved in anything close to a real relationship.  Dates, occasionally, and moments I suppose you could refer to as one night stands – “

“So not a virgin, then?” John interrupted and Sherlock shot him a withering look.

“The entire notion of virginity as a concept is asinine, but no, technically not what society would call a virgin.”  John nodded stiffly, his lips pinched tight.  Sherlock grinned and leaned his head back against John’s shoulder to look at him properly.  “John Watson, are you jealous?”

“No,” John replied too quickly.  Sherlock’s grin widened and John rolled his eyes.  “Just get on with what you were saying.”

Sherlock’s smirk remained as he said, “Anyway, you are my first real relationship, and I guess I…well, I don’t want to ruin it.  The intimacy that goes along with sharing a bed with a partner seemed…overwhelming.”

John’s expression softened and he massaged the back of Sherlock’s neck.  “That makes sense.  This is my first relationship as a single dad, although with you so dedicated to Cecelia, there’s not much difference between two person parenting and this.  If nothing else, it’s my first one with someone I can say I genuinely love.”  John noticed the pink shade of a blush creep up Sherlock’s neck and toward his cheeks.

“It’s ridiculous, like I said.  It’s new for both of us, as I’m well aware, but it feels as though there’s more at stake here.  Ruining this is not an option.”

“You won’t ruin anything.”  Cecelia started to squirm in Sherlock’s arms, so John leaned over to pick her up and set her on the floor.  Instantly she deserted her bee and started crawling across the floor, heading straight for the kitchen.  Before John could move, Sherlock was up on his feet, moving around so that he was standing in front of her and blocking her path.  She stopped and sat before him, reaching out to pull at Sherlock’s socks.  When she tried to skirt around him, he turned her around and she crawled back into the sitting room readily enough.

“You’re the perfect one, you know that?”  John said as he straightened, scooped Cecelia up, and came to kiss Sherlock.  “A dick sometimes, ridiculous always, but definitely perfect.  If anyone ends up fucking this up, it’ll definitely be me.”

“You couldn’t,” Sherlock insisted, resting his hands on John’s waist.  He squeezed briefly and tightened his hold.  “You’d never be able to fuck it up.”

John smiled up at him and shook his head.  “Alright, enough of this.  Neither of us is going to sabotage this, yeah?  We’re finally figuring it out and we’re doing it together.”             

“Together,” Sherlock repeated.  His eyes were soft as he shot John a tiny grin.  “Does this count as our first fight?  Does that mean we can move on to the makeup sex?”

John barked out a laugh and placed a peck on his lips.  “I’d love nothing better, but we’ve got an incredibly active baby who’d love nothing better than to interrupt whatever we might get up to.  Don’t think she needs to be traumatized by her dads going at it quite this early in her life.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened at John’s use of the plural and John took the opportunity to gently pull out of his grasp.  He shook himself and nodded, moving in a slight daze back into the kitchen.  “Breakfast, then?  And practicing magic?”

“ _That_ we can do,” John replied as he followed and set to work at Sherlock’s side.

~~~

They spent the afternoon in their pajamas in the sitting room, working on Sherlock’s casting and spellwork.  Despite the fact that he had his own wand now, the magic still fought to work properly and Sherlock found himself growing frustrated quickly.

“This is tedious,” he grumbled as the piece of paper he attempted to levitate simply flopped over in place.  “I thought getting my wand would make this easier, not keep it exactly the same.”

“You’re still learning, love,” John attempted to soothe.  “And if your magic isn’t quite as obvious as it is with others, it’s bound to be a bit finicky at first.  You’ll get there if you just keep at it, I promise.”

Sherlock fluffed his hair in frustration, his wand comically sticking up into the air as he did.  “I can feel it, as odd as it sounds, and it wants to work, I just can’t seem to get it to do what I say.  It’s as though we’re trying to scream at each other through a solid wall; we want it to work and it’s just not happening.”

“There has to be some way to make it click together,” John mumbled.  “It’s obvious that your magic is trying to communicate with you, and you’re definitely trying to get it to do what you want, but it just isn’t coming as naturally as it should.”

Sherlock sighed and flopped onto the sofa, folding his hands over his chest in his thinking pose with his wand on his stomach.  “I need to think on it.  There must be an answer for it; I just need to find it.”

Coming over to the sofa as well, John lifted Sherlock’s feet so he could sit.  Instead of letting him tuck them away, he placed Sherlock’s feet in his lap and rubbed one of his ankles.  “Have you looked in that Entering Hogwarts book yet?  Maybe it’s got something about the question marks that could give you a better idea of the direction we should head in.”

Sherlock shot up in his seat and reached under the sofa, pulling out a small stack of books.  As he shuffled through them, John heard him say, “Brilliant, John!  I believe I saw an entire chapter in it on the acceptance process.  Something in there must prove useful.”  He hummed in success and returned to his stretched out position, pulling his feet out of John’s lap to use his bent knees to prop the book up.  He flipped through the pages at lightning speed until he reached the appropriate chapter, settling himself further into the cushions to read.

John left him to read in peace and went to give the flat a quick clean.  Sherlock was still engrossed in his book by the time he finished, so John sat cross-legged on the floor with Cecelia, content to amuse her until Sherlock was finished.  He cast a series of bubbles in the air, causing her to shriek and attempt to catch them.  The three of them sat in contented silence for quite some time, each at ease in their individual tasks.

The sun was setting outside by the time Sherlock did anything more than flip a page.  John stood in the kitchen at the time, Cecelia in her high chair while he started dinner.  He heard a gasp from the sitting room and turned at the noise, eyebrows raised.  “Sherlock?”

A scrambling came from the other room and seconds later a disheveled Sherlock appeared at the entrance to the kitchen.  The open book dangled from his fierce grip and his face was a combination of stunned and thrilled.  He came to John’s side, waving the book in John’s face.  “My mother.”

John blinked and his forehead knit in confusion.  “Ah, what about her?  Gonna need a bit more context than that, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pushed the book into John’s hand and waved at the open page.  “My _mother_ , John.  She’s in the book.”

“What?!”  John took the offering and began scanning the page.  At the top was a single paragraph, describing what they already knew about the question mark the quill occasionally added to potential students’ names.  Below it, however, was a short list of names.  John scanned them quickly until he found what was important – Violet Bele (Holmes), 1946, was listed with the others H’s in the group.  “Holy shit.”

“These are all of the known people who have had the question mark next to their names at the time of publishing, including the year they would have started at Hogwarts,” Sherlock eagerly explained.  He practically vibrated in his excitement as he started to pace the kitchen floor.  “John, do you realize what this means?  My mother may have magic as well; this could explain everything about why I have it too!”

“But.”  John slowly shook his head and let the book fall to his side.  “If she’s magic, why didn’t we know before now?  You should have gotten something from Hogwarts, or they should have, after you were born and the mark was put down.  They’d know you were like her years ago.  You’d think that if she went to Hogwarts, she would have told you eventually, even if you didn’t end up going yourself.  Why wouldn’t she?”

“I have to call her.”  Sherlock rushed from the room and started frantically searching for his mobile.  “John, where’s my mobile?”

“Sherlock, hold on.”  When John entered the sitting room, Sherlock instantly froze in his desperate search.  His eyes were wide in a combination of hope and confusion and sought out John’s.  “Babe, I really don’t think this is the sort of conversation that should be had on the phone.”

Sherlock frowned but nodded.  “You’re right, of course you’re right.  I need to talk to her.”

“Look, it’s getting late, but they’re not too far out of London.”  John glanced at Cecelia, who sat in her chair watching them with curiosity.  “Find your mobile and give them a call.  See if they’re home and maybe we can head out there tonight.  It’ll take a bit to get a car rented and figure out something with _Síleas_ , but we’ll manage it somehow.  We need to get out there and find out what this is about.”

In slight bewilderment, Sherlock nodded.  He approached John and grasped his head in his hands, lowering his face to brush a light kiss over John’s lips.  When he pulled away, he continued to cradle his face in his enormous hands.  “Thank you.  For understanding.  I can go alone if necessary.”

“Like hell you are,” John grumbled, lifting a hand to clasp it tightly around Sherlock’s.  “We’re doing this together, you hear me?  No way am I letting you go through with this by yourself.”  At Sherlock’s tiny smile, John gave him a single brief nod and pulled out of his grasp.  “Right, now go call your mum and get dressed.  I’ll see if Mrs. Hudson can watch Cecelia for the evening, otherwise we’ll just bring her with us, alright?”

Sherlock returned to his search of the sofa for his mobile, finally finding it between the cushions.  When he flipped it on to make the call, he found a pair of texts that stopped him in his tracks.

_You won’t like what you find if you follow through on this, Sherlock.  MH_

_I’m sorry.  MH_

Sherlock gaped at the messages, stunned enough that he pulled up the number to confirm it was actually Mycroft who sent them.  They had been sent from Mycroft’s personal number, one only he could have had access to, but Sherlock still didn’t necessarily believe they could have come from him.  It certainly was the first time he’d seen Mycroft apologize without provoking in years, and he wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for.  Before he could think about it too deeply, he was interrupted by John calling from the stairs.

“Sherlock?  Mrs. Hudson’s fine with watching Cecelia for the night, so I’ve just got to bring a few essentials down for her.  Have you found your mobile?”

“Yes,” Sherlock called back, his voice firm despite his confusion.  He frowned down at the messages a final time before tapping away from them, choosing to ignore them for the time being.  He pulled up his mother’s number and called it before he had the chance to doubt his decision.

“Mummy?  Can John and I come out tonight?  There’s something important I need to discuss with you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite favorite FAVORITE bits of this story is in this chapter, aka John's I love you speech. Hopefully y'all enjoy it as much as I do. FYI if I magically have premonitions and that bit about Cecelia ends up happening with Rosie...I apologize.
> 
> Edit: I FUCKED UP AND TOTALLY DIDN'T REALIZE THAT I GAVE SHERLOCK HOLMES' MOM HER MARRIED NAME SO I FIXED THAT SO THAT IT SAYS A MAIDEN NAME I LITERALLY JUST MADE UP PLUS HER MARRIED NAME (because that's actually pretty common, to have both, my undergrad does that all the time with published shit) THANKS TO POLK-A-DOP ON TUMBLR FOR POINTING IT OUT. Y'all always be free to let me know if you think something like that has been fucked up because 99% of the time it was totally accidental and I just wasn't paying attention.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys pay Mummy and Dad Holmes a visit to learn more about Mummy's background. Questions about Mycroft pop up and make things even more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) for the beta!

Finding a car to rent at half five on a Sunday proved to be more difficult than expected, but they managed it.  Once they made it out onto the M4, they finally started to make progress towards actually reaching the Holmes residence.  Sherlock’s fingers were white from clutching the steering wheel so tightly.  John moved a hand to his thigh, rubbing his thumb on the outside of his leg in soothing circles.

“What are you going to say?” he asked, breaking the silence.  Sherlock breathed out hard enough to flop his fringe on his forehead, his mouth set in a thin line.

“Ask her straightforwardly, I suppose,” he replied with a shrug.  “Show her my wand.  Find out if there was some sort of option for them about whether or not I should go or if it was purely the quill’s choice.”

“It’ll be fine,” John said when Sherlock still hadn’t relaxed in his seat.  He finally lowered his shoulders, releasing the tension in them, and let himself settle back.  “Is this all that’s bothering you?  I’m sure there’s an explanation behind why she hasn’t said anything before now…I wouldn’t worry yourself about it too much.”

“It’s not that,” Sherlock muttered.  He waved his head at the cup holder that held his mobile.  “Texts from Mycroft.  It doesn’t make sense.”

Shooting him a look to confirm it was okay, John grabbed the mobile and put in the pin without thinking.  Sherlock smiled slightly at the particularly domestic move and watched him out of the corner of his eye.  John’s brow furrowed deeper as he scrolled through the first message, both brows rising when he found the second.

“Mycroft _apologised_?  What the hell for?  I wasn’t aware you two were even fighting, let alone seen him say he’s sorry for anything first.”

“We aren’t, as far as I know.  We’ve barely spoken since everything happened with Mary.  Frankly I’ve found the silence rather refreshing.”

John rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, you would, you ridiculous nutter.  So what the hell’s this about then?”

“I suspect it’s to do with our going to talk with Mummy, if he’s still got surveillance on the flat that I haven’t managed to find yet.  We haven’t spotted Mycroft’s name on any of the documents about the question mark, however, so I don’t understand what connection he might have in all this.”

“Well, we already know he’s not a wizard, so he can’t be apologizing for going to Hogwarts when you didn’t.  Unless he gave it up like I did and lives as though he’s a Muggle?”

“I doubt it.  Surely Harry or someone would have let some comment slip by now.  Are there other wizarding schools nearby that he might have attended instead?”

“There’s Beauxbatons somewhere in France and Durmstrang in Bulgaria, but I seriously doubt he would have managed to get that past Harry.  If they both work at the Ministry, and we know they’re both the heads of each of their departments, there’s no way Mycroft would have been able to keep his magic a secret if he had any.”

Sherlock scowled and drummed his hands on the wheel.  “It just doesn’t make sense.  I’m certain it has something to do with all of this, but I can’t imagine what without more information.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s thigh in an attempt to comfort him and they fell silent for the remainder of the journey.  It was long past dark by the time they pulled up to the quaint stone house, but a light on within showed that at least one of the Holmes parents was up.  Sherlock used his key to enter through the side door, bringing them directly into the kitchen where both of his parents sat.  Each of them held a cup of tea and two more, still steaming, sat before the chairs across from them.

“Hello dove,” Mummy said, rising to her feet to hug Sherlock.  He accepted it without comment, proving to John that he was more affected by the conversation about to take place than he let on.  She smiled when she spotted John and pulled him into his own hug, surprising yet delighting him.  “How are you doing, John?  How’s your little one?  Settling back into Baker Street well?”

“Just fine, to all of it,” John replied.  He shot Sherlock a look, attempting to silently ask him if they knew about the change in their relationship, but Sherlock’s face remained blank.  John shrugged it off for the time being and continued.  “Sherlock’s found something that…ah, we wanted to discuss with you, specifically Mrs. Holmes.”

They sat side by side and Sherlock instantly wrapped his hands around his mug.  He stared down into the tea with an out of focus expression, causing his parents to glance worriedly at one another.  Under the table, John placed his free hand on Sherlock’s knee to encourage him.  He shot John a look and nodded, moving one of his hands to rest on John’s.

“I’m a wizard,” Sherlock stated without preamble.  Violet lifted a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening.  “We’ve discovered that I have enough magical ability, despite the quill’s question mark, to allow me to get my own wand.  I’ve only just started to work with it, but – “

“How did you find out you have magic?” Violet interrupted.  Stephen took up her hand, mirroring John and Sherlock’s out of sight.  “You haven’t showed signs in years…we thought it wasn’t enough…”

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” John said, taking over for a baffled Sherlock.  “I’ve got magic too – Sherlock found out about it and my time at Hogwarts at the same time we took on our last case.  He took it for me; the deaths were the same as my parents’ and my background just sort of came out because of it.”  John quickly explained a condensed version of everything that occurred on the case.

“We were told your magic wasn’t strong enough to attend Hogwarts,” Violet muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.  “Your magic shouldn’t be any stronger than mine.”

“You have magic, then?”  Sherlock’s head shot up when he asked.  “The name in the book really was yours?”

Violet and Stephen shared a brief look before she cleared her throat.  “Your grandparents didn’t have the skill, but when I was born they were sent a letter.  It said that I possessed a small amount of magic and, depending on how it developed as I grew older, I might receive a letter of invitation.  On my eleventh birthday, Hogwarts sent me another informing me that I would not be able to attend.  We didn’t think much of it at the time – I hardly ever showed any skill, usually just the accidental flickering of lights or something similar when I was upset.  It never escalated beyond that, even now, so we never thought of it past that.  Until you were born.”

“We got the same letter,” Stephen continued.  “Didn’t say much, just that you had the same skill as your mother.  I never would have known about magic at all if it hadn’t come.  Then as you got older, you started showing the signs.”

“It was so much stronger than mine, we thought for sure you would get a letter inviting you to Hogwarts.”  Violet shook her head, her face etched with sadness.  “The things you did, Sherlock…levitating books off the top shelves, turning faucets on just by looking at them, setting fires in the fireplace and elsewhere.  It was exceptional.  And then, on your eleventh birthday…nothing came.  We didn’t even get a letter saying you didn’t have enough power, like I did years ago.  Thank God we never told you anything about potentially being a wizard because your disappointment would have been crushing.”

“Could it have gotten lost?” Sherlock asked John, turning bright eyes on him.  “Maybe I was supposed to go to Hogwarts and something stopped the letter from reaching me.”

John shot him the tiniest of smiles and shook his head.  “Not possible, I don’t think.  They’re delivered by owl and they’re trained not to give up until their delivery is made.  If you were meant to get a letter, they would have kept trying until you got it.  You should hear the stories Harry’s told the lot of us in the Order about him getting his; they’re determined creatures, Hogwarts delivery owls.”

“Do you have a wand?” Violet asked abruptly.  “Can you actually perform magic?”

Reaching into an inner pocket of his Belstaff, Sherlock pulled out the rune decorated wand and set it on the table between them.  Violet and Stephen leaned in, eagerness radiating off of them, and Sherlock nodded for his mother to take it.  She did with tentative fingers, observing it closely as Sherlock explained.  “I’ve done some research on the runes themselves – they seem to be traditional Anglo-Saxon symbols.  According the runes text I picked up, the signs are perthro, algiz, dagaz, mannaz, teiwaz, eihwaz, and raidho.  Symbolic use of seven with magic, besides the fact that each of the meanings seem to be particularly apt for me.”

“It’s beautiful, darling.”  She passed it back to him and the lines of her face grew soft to see Sherlock holding it.  “I’m so sorry we never told you.  When the second letter didn’t come, we just assumed it was for the best that we never said anything.  If we’d known you could genuinely perform magic, we would have fought harder to know why you couldn’t attend.”

Sherlock fingered his wand and frowned.  “No, it’s not your fault, Mummy.  How could you have known?  But why on Earth didn’t I get that letter?  There has to be an explanation for all of this.”  Suddenly he remembered Mycroft’s texts and his head shot up.  “Mycroft.  Did you ever get anything about Mycroft?”

Turning slowly to Stephen, Violet shook her head.  “Not as far as I remember.  Your brother is unique, not unlike you, but he’s never shown any signs of having it himself.  He always seemed fairly unimpressed by magic, as far as I could tell.”

“He hardly cared when we were waiting for your letter,” Stephen said solemnly.  “We tried to avoid talking about anything relating to it in front of either of you, but when you first started showing such strong potential – right around your sixth birthday, if I remember correctly – well, it was difficult not to be excited.  You had so much talent; it was all we could talk about for the next few months.”

“Jesus, that must have been awful for Mycroft,” John said under his breath.  Sherlock ignored him for the time being and narrowed his eyes at his wand.

“What did you do, Mycroft?” Sherlock muttered, twirling his wand thoughtfully.  He squinted and blinked, bringing himself out of his own thoughts.  “How did he get his job with the Ministry of Magic?” he asked his mother.

“As far as I know, the Ministry offered it to him,” Violet replied.  “He’d been climbing ranks in our government so quickly and well, the Minister for Magic at the time suggested he take it.  He already had a basic knowledge of it all and didn’t need the same sort of preparation, what with the fact that he knew about magic in the first place, so he was ideal.  He’s been at the post for nearly ten years now.”

“Something feels off here,” John said with a huff.  “How’d they even find Mycroft in the first place if he’s not got any immediate connection to the world?  I mean, sure, if his name was chosen by the quill with a question mark it would make sense, but all this?  It’d be more reasonable to ask you if they asked any Holmes, since you’ve at least got magic.”

Sherlock rose to his feet, sticking his wand back in his pocket.  “Thank you, Mummy.  You’ve been very helpful, but John and I should really leave before it gets too much later.  Mrs. Hudson is watching Cecelia and we shouldn’t make her deal with her alone for long.”

“Let me at least give you both something to eat before you go,” Violet declared, rising with him and hurrying around the room.  “Stephen, do you remember where those presents for Cecelia went to?”

“I’ve got it,” Stephen said as he followed her to his feet with a groan.  He shot Sherlock and John a wink before heading into the sitting room.  John stood and moved close to Sherlock’s side, brushing his hand over the back of Sherlock’s briefly.  Sherlock turned into John so that they leaned chest to chest, linking hands with him fully.  He breathed out a sigh into the space between them and rested his forehead against John’s heavily as though he could no longer hold his head up on his own.  Tuning out the sounds of Violet behind them, John rubbed their foreheads together and pulled Sherlock closer.

“Hey, what is it?” he asked, quiet enough that only Sherlock could hear him.  “What are you thinking?”

Sherlock shook his head, his hair rubbing against John’s skin.  “I don’t know yet.  I don’t have enough information.  You’re right, something here isn’t right, but I just don’t have what I need to figure out what it is.”

“Talk to Mycroft, maybe?”  When Sherlock’s face contorted into a frown of disgust, John laughed low.  “Yeah, shitty option, I know, but it seems like that would be the only way to get what you need.  Is it worth it to get what you’re after?”

“I’ll see what else I can find on my own first,” Sherlock insisted, but John could tell from his expression that he was dissatisfied.  “But you’re likely right, Mycroft will be the only one who has the rest of the story.  I doubt I’ll have much choice if I want to figure it all out.”

“And it being you, God forbid you leave a puzzle unsolved.”  Sherlock smiled and let John pull him into a hug.  They broke apart when they heard Violet’s footsteps approaching.

“Thank God the two of you finally got yourselves sorted out,” she commented, placing a foil wrapped package on the table next to them.  “Your father and I wondered if you’d ever figure it all out and stop dancing around each other like the ridiculous lovesick fools you are.”

Sherlock shifted as though he was about to pull away, but John linked his fingers into his belt loops to keep him close.  He turned his head to glimpse at Violet, a bright grin on his face.  “We’re a couple of idiots, aren’t we?”

Violet’s expression softened and a hint of tears appeared at the corner of her eyes.  “You are, but you’re our idiots.  You’re practically meant for each other that way.”

Stephen finally reappeared, a bag in one of his hands.  “Found it.  Hopefully your little one hasn’t grown too much in the last few months, John.”  He added the bag to Violet’s contribution, planting a hand on John’s shoulder to squeeze it and smile at Sherlock.  Sherlock’s lips twitched into a small grin and John let him pull away this time when he moved.  Rather than stepping too far away, he snatched up the bag and immediately crowded back into John’s space.

John grabbed the food and used his free hand to shake Stephen’s.  Violet circled the table and hugged them both at the same time, barely stifling a sniffle.

“I’m fully aware of how busy you both are, particularly now with this development between you two and your magic, but don’t you dare take that as an excuse not to come by more often,” she scolded as she pulled back.  “I’ll not have you both living only a few hours away and never stopping around!  And for goodness’ sake, bring Cecelia next time.  We haven’t seen that darling child nearly enough since she’s been born and that is simply unacceptable.”

“Of course we will,” John replied, glancing up at Sherlock.  “Cecelia ought to see the place where Sherlock grew up.”

Sherlock’s cheeks turned rosy and he kissed his mother’s cheek in an attempt to hide it.  “Thank you again for your help, Mummy.”

Violet grabbed his arm before he could pull too far away.  “I’m so proud of you, Sherlock,” she said quietly, forcing Sherlock to meet her eyes.  “So proud.  Next time you’ll have to show us some of that magic, hmm?”

Sherlock’s gaze darted to the floor in obvious discomfort, but he nodded.  “I’ll try.  It…I’ll do my best, but it hasn’t gone well so far.”

She squeezed his bicep and nodded.  “You always do, lovely.  That’s all we’ve ever asked of you.  You’ll figure it out, just like you always have.  It can’t be any more complicated than when you first started to learn chemistry, right?”

Sherlock blinked and his eyes narrowed.  He remained silent as John finished his goodbyes and ushered him out to the car.  As Sherlock started the engine, John put a hand over his on the key to stop him.

“She’s right, you know,” he said quickly.  Sherlock stared down at the wheel and said nothing.  “We’ll get it all figured out.  Both this shit with Mycroft and your magic.”  When Sherlock did nothing more than nod, John released his hand and they headed out towards the motorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dad Holmes' name is a subtle nod to curly dad Steven Moffat. ;) Since I don't have access to any magical texts, everything I learned about runes came from [this website](http://www.crystalinks.com/runes.html) which is pretty fascinating. The specific meanings that I focused on for each were the following:
> 
> Perthro - initiation, things unexplained, something hidden  
> Algiz - protection, fortunate new influence, making the connection with spirit and working through issues  
> Dagaz - daylight or dawn, "Light is around you" (I've been thinking of this one as the John rune because it represents what John is to Sherlock)  
> Mannaz - the nature of Humanity, "Your attitude towards and their attitudes towards you"  
> Teiwaz - Tyr the sky god, "very motivated, finding the spiritual or transcendental self"  
> Eihwaz - yew tree, "doing the right things, perseverance, endurance"  
> Raidho - journey
> 
> Sometime soon I hope to take the wand inspiration I found and these symbols and actually draw what Sherlock's wand looks like. We'll see if I manage it.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst their drama with Mycroft, Sherlock and John attempt to further their relationship. When discussions of magic leads to an argument, a revelation pushes Sherlock closer to accepting his magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry if you're hurting or angry over what happened on Sunday. I'm right there with you. But I'm definitely not stopping my writing in this fandom - if nothing else, it's going to get me to write even more in defiance. So I give you an offering: a bit of smut, a bit of argument, and a lot of the boys doing what they should: talking it out. Love to all of you.

A week later, John hadn’t managed to convince Sherlock to talk to Mycroft.  By the time they got home the night they visited the Holmes parents, it was after midnight and they both were exhausted.  After being reassured by Mrs. Hudson that all was well and checking in on a sleeping Cecelia, John dragged Sherlock to their bedroom.  Sherlock briefly hesitated, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway, but his tiredness finally won out.  With hardly enough energy to check that the baby monitor was close by and to slip out of their shoes, they both flopped into bed and were asleep instantly.

The next morning, John had woken up with a warm body tucked carefully across him.  John blinked awake to find Sherlock’s bottom half wedged between his sprawled open legs, John’s groin level with Sherlock’s hips.  His arms were wrapped tightly around John’s chest, his hands resting flat at John’s back and shoulder.  Meanwhile, Sherlock’s head was tucked in directly under John’s chin with his curls just brushing his face and neck.  At some point during the night, John had wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist and rested a hand on the spot where his lower back met the top of his bum.  John hummed low in his throat as he slowly woke, causing Sherlock to rub his face into John’s chest in his sleep.

Wiggling his hips to settle further into the mattress, John became abruptly aware of his erection jutting into Sherlock’s hip.  Grinning to himself, he slid his hand down to fully rest on the swell of Sherlock’s arse, messaging the muscle carefully.  Sherlock squirmed and rolled his hips into the mattress just below John’s groin.  He groaned, blowing a hot breath over the nipple closest to his mouth, and John moaned in reply.

He felt Sherlock move his head down and mouth over the nipple, and John knew he had finally woken up.  John’s free hand moved to tangle in Sherlock’s hair and he huffed in reply, pushing back into the palm on his bum.  John spent a moment rotating between squeezing the arse he held with one hand and scraping his nails against the skull in his other.  When he shifted his leg to move it into a more comfortable position, he felt his thigh brush up against Sherlock’s cock.  Sherlock yelped and his head shot up, his eyes wide and the pupils blown.

“Morning,” John grumbled, his voice gruff from sleep and arousal.  He settled both of his hands on Sherlock’s waist and suddenly pulled him up higher, thrusting his hips so their groins could meet.  Sherlock’s eyes clenched shut in concentration as he settled his elbows next to John’s head and measured his thrusts to follow John’s rhythm.  He gasped when their cocks aligned through their sleep trousers and he was forced to lower his head to rest it on John’s chest.

“ _John_ ,” he breathed, clutching at the pillow under John’s head.  John chuckled breathlessly and sped up, leaning down to attempt to mouth at Sherlock’s jaw.  Sherlock shifted around to offer up the skin he sought and John licked across his neck, immediately blowing on it and admiring the goose bumps that followed.  Sherlock moaned and shifted his hips faster, seeking more friction.

A knock came at the door and Sherlock threw himself out of John’s arms, curling into a tight ball at the end of the bed.  John gaped up at the ceiling, attempting to even his breathing and stopper the disappointment in both his chest and his cock.

“Boys?  You left one of your bags from last night down in my flat.  I just found it on my kitchen table and thought I’d bring it up.”

John finally found his voice and managed to call out, “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that’s great.”  He heard her step away and huffed out a breath.  “Just great.”  He raised his head and glanced down at Sherlock down by his feet.  He watched John over the tops of his bent knees and huffed out a sigh, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs.  “Hey, it’s okay.  You alright?”  Sherlock nodded and John held a hand out for him.  “C’mere.”

Sherlock instantly uncurled and crawled back up the bed, tucking himself into John’s side.  John wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed Sherlock’s temple.  He could tell Sherlock’s erection had abated and petted his hair.

"Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder, shifting closer.

“Not your fault, love,” John replied.  They laid in silence for several long minutes simply clutching each other close, until Cecelia started to stir over the monitor.  John pulled them both into a sitting position and kissed Sherlock briefly.  “No lie-ins for the weary, it seems.”

“Or the individuals with an almost eight-month-old,” Sherlock said, a tiny smile attempting to tug at his lips.  John grabbed his hands until they both were kneeling on the bed and his face was level with John’s.  He kissed him slowly, cradling Sherlock’s jaw and coaxing his mouth open.  They continued lazily snogging for a few seconds, their tongues shifting against each other in what was quickly becoming renewed arousal, until Cecelia grumbled.  Sherlock pulled away first, John lowering his head to his shoulder to mouth at his neck once more.  “John.  Cecelia.”

John groaned and pulled reluctantly away.  He left Sherlock on the bed and went upstairs, peering into the crib at a squirming Cecelia.  “ _Síleas_ , my sunshine, I love you, but your timing’s just as shit as Mrs. Hudson’s.”  She blinked up at him and mumbled meaningless noises, reaching her hands up to him.  John huffed out a laugh and did as he was bid, moving to get her ready for the day.

The rest of the week went similarly, with the two of them flopping into bed at night exhausted and interruptions stopping them from getting any further than disappointed denial.  When John woke on Friday, it was to an empty bed for the first time in days and a strange tapping at the window.  He blinked around trying to figure out the noise’s source and soon spotted an odd shape outside.  Creeping quietly out of bed and grasping his wand, he approached the window with careful steps.

When he saw of flash of feathered wing, he chuckled at himself quietly before tucking his wand into his waistband and pulling at the latch.  A small barn owl, bright eyes blinking slowly up at him, sat on the windowsill with a piece of parchment tied to its leg.  He quickly untied the letter and searched around for the bag of owl treats he’d picked up while they were at Diagon Alley.  He offered a few to the owl, who took them gratefully before taking off.  Scratching his neck and yawning widely, he took the note out into the kitchen to search for Sherlock.

He found him seated at the kitchen table with Cecelia sitting in her highchair beside him.  She happily munched on a reheated courgette waffle they had made and frozen a few days earlier.  As she spotted John’s approach, she squealed and pounded on the tray, sending sprays of waffle crumbs everywhere.  Sherlock glanced up at her and followed her gaze to John, favouring him with a small grin.  John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and moved to the chair opposite, reaching a hand out to wipe crumbs off of Cecelia’s face as he did.  She squirmed away and went back to eating, making the mess on her tray even bigger.

Shaking his head and laughing, John turned his attention to Sherlock.  His cauldron sat simmering in the middle of the table over a Bunsen burner, bubbling slightly and darkening into a purplish blue shade similar to blackcurrants.  In front of him, he had one of their small wooden cutting boards and leaned forward over it cutting up some sort of plant.  The pieces were each a precise tiny square, equal in size and shape to one another.  Once complete, Sherlock snatched up a beaker at his side and tipped them in, joining what John assumed was water at the bottom.  He twirled it by the neck, watching the pieces spin in the liquid before setting it aside to glance into the cauldron.

“What are you making?” John asked, untying the note he still held and flattening it out on the table.

Sherlock snatched up his mobile and set a timer before tossing it aside.  “Draught of Living Death,” he muttered, pulling forward another small bowl and squinting at it.  He stood and slowly let the contents drip into the cauldron, glaring down into it to watch it fizz and settle.

John’s eyebrows rose and he stood too, peering in at the potion.  “Seriously?  That’s NEWT level work.  I barely managed it in seventh year Potions.”

Sherlock hummed and returned to his seat, running a finger down the column of his book to go over the instructions once more.  John went to set the kettle onto its stand and turned it on.  While he waited for it to boil, he snatched up the letter and scanned it.  Sherlock looked at him over the top of his book.  “What’s that?”

“Letter an owl dropped off this morning,” John replied.  “From Ron.  Remember how he mentioned meeting up for dinner?  We’ve been invited to the Burrow in two weeks to get together with everyone and introduce you to the Weasley lot.”

Sherlock’s timer went off and he snatched up a colander, straining the Valerian root pieces in the beaker out of the water.  Using an eye dropper, he collected the water and counted out seven drops into the cauldron.   With his free hand, he picked up his wand and used it to stir, watching the potion turn lightly purple in colour.  “The Burrow?”

John nodded and poured his boiling water into the waiting mug before bringing it back to the table.  He flopped into his seat once more and stirred the teabag absentmindedly.  “The Weasley homestead.  Molly and Arthur, Ron’s parents, still live out there even though all of the kids are on their own now.  Given the number of family members who will likely show up, chances are decent that it would be a very loud and enthusiastic affair.”

Sherlock switched his wand to his right hand to continue the potion.  “Do you not want to go, then?”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to see them…”  John tapped his spoon against the lip of his mug and frowned.  “I haven’t since after the Battle of Hogwarts.  I’m a bit afraid it would be…weird.”

Counting out pieces of Valerian root, Sherlock nodded.  “It could.  Do you have any reason to think it will be awkward?”

“Not really?  I don’t know.”  He dug out his teabag and stood up again to throw it in the rubbish bin and grab the milk.  Tipping some into his tea, he shook his head.  “A lot has changed since then.  I’d love for them to meet you and Cecelia, but…I just don’t know.  I’ve stuck to staying in touch with just Ted and Harry for so long now, I have no clue if I’d even still fit in with all of this.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed while he slowly dropped pieces of root into the potion one at a time.  “They’re your friends, John – if they went so far as to invite you, specifically all of us, it must mean they still care for you.  It might be a good reintroduction into being more a part of that world again.”  Sherlock’s eyes grew wide when he suddenly realized that one of his pieces was actually two.  He cried out and attempted to catch one of them, but he was too late.  The potion let out a great puff of purple smoke and gurgled.  He glanced down into it, taking in the now deep purple colour and bubbling surface.  Sitting down in his seat again, he grumbled, “Damn,” and started collecting his remaining ingredients.

“Eight instead of seven?” John asked.  Sherlock nodded his agreement while turning off the Bunsen burner.  “Would you even be interested in going?  Like I said, it’s likely to be pretty mad.”

Sherlock’s head shot up.  “Of course.  If it’s important to you, I’ll always do it, whatever it is you ask.”

John’s face softened and he leaned over to squeeze Sherlock’s hand.  “You romantic sod.  Alright, we’ll give it a shot.  Should be an adventure, if nothing else.”

Sherlock smiled shyly in reply and stood to sweep away his leftover ingredients.  The failed potion continued to let off occasional gurgles, a bubble or two coming to its surface and letting out a belch.  Cecelia watched it in fascination, giggling and clapping her hands whenever it made a noise.  John took her moment of distraction to clear off the massacre of waffle crumbs from the tray and wipe her face with a napkin.

“Right, so the potion didn’t work out, but do you want to give some wand work a try?” John asked, picking Cecelia up out of her highchair.  Sherlock, meanwhile, carried his cauldron over to the sink to get rid of the remains.

“I suppose we could,” he replied with a shrug.  He scrubbed at the bottom of the cauldron with more force than necessary.  John frowned and hefted Cecelia higher on his hip.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” he remarked.  Sherlock sighed and let the cauldron drop into the sink.  His rested his hands on the sink’s edge, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which hunched up to his ears.  The cauldron thunked dully against the metal as it fell.

“It’s just.”  He shook his head and straightened, spinning around to face John and lean back against the counter.  He kept his eyes downcast and bit his bottom lip, toying with it with his teeth.  “Nothing I’ve tried has worked.  This isn’t the first time I’ve attempted a potion and it’s ended badly.  None of this is working, even when I use my own wand rather than yours.”

John took a step toward him but stopped when Sherlock still refused to look up.  “Babe, you have to realize, it’s not just going to suddenly come to you just because you’ve got a wand now.  It’s gonna take practice, just like when you were first learning violin or a new experiment.  You can’t expect to be a natural right away.”

“ _I know!_ ” Sherlock exploded, pushing off from the counter and stalking past John into the sitting room.  He started to pace the length of the room, his hands clenched into fists.  “I know I can’t expect to get it immediately, but I should be able to do _something_!  God, John, I can’t even get a single piece of paper to move, let alone levitate, and I’ve been trying for two weeks!  A bloody piece of paper, and a first year spell!  I can understand it taking time, but if I actually had any skill at any of this, surely it would have shown itself by now!”

“We already knew going into this that it would be a challenge,” John countered, keeping his voice steady and calm.  He came to stand in the doorway to the sitting room, giving Sherlock the room to pace.  “It’s been lying in wait inside of you for longer than usual with most wizards, so it’ll take more to coax it out.  We’ve both seen you perform magic – it’s in there and you know it, you’ve just got to convince it to come out.  The potential’s right there.”

Sherlock threw his arms into the air and groaned.  “Convince it to come out, like my magic’s some scared animal cowering in the corner waiting to be beaten into submission?  What do you think we’ve been trying to do all this time, John?  It isn’t working; it doesn’t _want_ to come out.  I can feel it, a barrier between myself and the magic, and none of these attempts to pound it out are doing anything!  If nothing else, it’s harder to grasp at it each time we do!”

“So we’ll try something else.  Jesus, Sherlock, there isn’t just one way to go about this, but if you don’t tell me this is how you’re feeling, there’s no way for me to help!”

“Maybe I haven’t said anything because I don’t think it’s possible for you to do any good!”

John stiffened and sniffed.  “Right.  Suppose I should just leave you to it then, since I’m obviously just making it worse.”  He spun on his heel and started to carry Cecelia into their bedroom.  Behind him, Sherlock took a step forward him to follow but stopped himself before he got farther than John’s chair.  Moments later, John emerged fully dressed with Cecelia in his arms.

“John, I – “ Sherlock started to say, but John interrupted him.

“Cecelia and I are heading out.”  He didn’t look Sherlock in the eye as he shoved his keys and mobile into his pockets.  “Not that I expect you will, but text me if you need us.”  Sighing and shaking his head, he finally glanced up at Sherlock.  His mouth gaped open slightly at John and his eyebrows drooped at the corners.  John stiffened his shoulders and grabbed the diaper bag left by the door, skipping down the steps without another word.  Sherlock heard him unfolding the pram kept tucked away at the bottom of the stairs and soon both of them were gone.

Sherlock released a breath, running a hand roughly through his hair.  He turned enough to flop into John’s chair over the arm, letting his legs dangle over one of them and throwing his head back against the other.  Scrubbing a hand across his face, he glared up at the ceiling, running through their argument in his head.  He groaned at the memory of his own words, but something John said caught his attention.  He shot up in his seat, one of his legs falling off the arm with a thud, and looked into the kitchen where his wand still sat on the table.

“Potential…” he muttered, eyes narrowed at the wand.  He hummed and stood, snatching up his laptop to start investigating.

~~~

John brought Cecelia to Regents after stopping off at a nearby Tesco for a loaf of bread.  They spent the rest of the morning with the birds at the lake, John breaking off tiny pieces from the loaf to lure them in.  Cecelia clapped and giggled at the decent sized flock they managed to gather around their bench and pram, occasionally attempting to reach out and snatch at one.  They made friends with a pair of dachshunds who excitedly went up on their hind legs to look into her pram and say hello.  While he was glad Cecelia was enjoying herself, John couldn’t help but constantly think of Sherlock back at the flat, worrying about whether or not he was doing well alone.

When it got closer to early afternoon, they headed to a Nero around the corner.  John introduced Cecelia to blueberry muffins, crumbling them into smaller pieces and feeding them to her.  He sipped at his latte and twirled his mobile around, hoping for a text from Sherlock, but it remained silent.  He sighed and prepped a bottle for Cecelia to go with her treat, shoving his mobile out of sight.  As soon as he did, he felt it vibrate in his jacket pocket.  Choosing to ignore it for the time being, he shuffled the pram closer and passed over the bottle.

The sky had just started to turn cloudy as they left, so John headed back towards home, stopping briefly at Tesco again to pick up necessities.  By the time they’d finished, the sky had opened up to release an enormous fall rainstorm, the water so thick it was nearly impossible to see through it.  John glanced down at Cecelia in her normal jacket without a proper hood and made a quick decision.  Pulling the pram’s short covering over her to protect her as much as he could, he pulled up the collar on his jacket and made a run for the alley right next to the shop.

John glanced around nervously, making sure they were out of sight of the pavement, and slipped his wand out of its sheath.  Wrapping his arm around Cecelia, after taking her out of the pram and folding it up to hook it over the same elbow that held the shopping, he took a deep breath, bent his head over hers, and Apparated.  They landed fully intact in his and Sherlock’s bedroom, but the pram clattered to the floor in a loud crash, jostled loose by the sudden movement.  John heard a scrambling noise out in the flat proper and he threw open the closed bedroom door.

Sherlock stood at the end of the hallway, dressing gown fanning out around him as he pointed his wand at John.  His head shot around to glance at the kitchen door before spinning back to John and Cecelia, eventually lowering his wand to hang limply at his side.

“Sorry,” John said, setting the shopping down and approaching Sherlock.  “It was raining like hell and I wasn’t prepared, and I didn’t want Cecelia to get drenched…”

“Apparation,” Sherlock realized.  “No, I should have expected it.  You just startled me; I didn’t realize anyone could Apparate directly into the flat, but obviously since we went out that way before – “

“Not anyone, not really,” John explained.  Sherlock picked up the bag John put down and brought it into the kitchen, John following.  “There are Apparation shields as part of the protection I put up around the flat.  Unless given permission, there’s only a handful of people who can Apparate in or out of the flat, and even then if it’s not either of us, an alarm will go off to let us know it’s happening.”  When Sherlock glanced at him, he shrugged and shot him a tiny grin.  “I put you on it too, figuring we’d get you set up with a license for it eventually.  If you want.”

Sherlock slowly nodded and started to unpack the bag.  Clearing his throat, John waved at an almost asleep Cecelia and pointed to the stairs.  “Just gonna put this one down for a nap.”  When Sherlock’s only reply was a second nod, John rushed off to do so and come back down.

The shopping was completely put away and the pram back in its rightful place downstairs when he made it back to the main part of the flat.  A single mug of steaming tea sat on the kitchen table and when John looked around, he spotted Sherlock at the desk with his own cup.  John picked his up and brought it out into the sitting room, walking to his chair and sitting on the arm.  They sat in silence drinking their tea, Sherlock clutching his tightly and staring down into it.

“Did you get my text?” he asked suddenly, reminding John that he never actually checked it.  He dug through his pockets for his mobile and pulled up the message.

_I don’t want to do it alone.  I’m sorry.  SH_

“Oh love,” John muttered, placing his cup on the floor and rising to come to Sherlock’s side.  He pulled him to his feet and into a hug.  Instantly Sherlock folded himself around John, his arms wrapped tightly around John’s waist and his face buried in John’s shoulder.  John stroked his back in wide, sweeping circles, attempting to comfort him.  “I didn’t mean it that way.  I’m sorry.  We’re both pretty frustrated by all this, aren’t we?  It was bound to get let out at some point.”

Sherlock shook his head and his hair brushed against John’s cheek.  “It was my fault.  I lost patience and took it out on you.  I shouldn’t have yelled, particularly not in front of Cecelia.”

“Wasn’t the first time she’s experienced that, unfortunately, and that was a lot more tame than anything she’s heard before.”  Sherlock lifted his head to look at John, whose eyes wrinkled in the corners from memories.  “I did tell you things with Mary weren’t great.  We were basically in it just for Cecelia, but it was fairly obvious where my heart actually was.”

Sherlock ducked down to rub his face into the junction where John’s neck met his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.  That was my fault as well.”

“Course it wasn’t.”  John squeezed Sherlock’s waist.  “Should have come right back to you as soon as I knew you were alive, frankly.”

“You were angry; it would have gotten worse if you came back then.”  They stood in silence simply holding each other, long enough that John lost track of time.  Abruptly Sherlock’s head shot up again and he pulled away just enough to meet John’s eyes.  He bit his bottom lip, his face alight with barely contained excitement.  John lifted a hand to stroke his fingers across his cheek, smiling softly up at him and waiting for him to say whatever it was he suddenly remembered.  “I think I may have figured out how to channel my magic and help it work properly.”

Letting out a laugh, John pulled away fully and waved his arms out at his sides.  “Wait, seriously?  Have you tried it out yet?”

“Not yet – like I said, I didn’t want to do it alone.”  John’s smile softened as he watched Sherlock dart around to the desk to turn his laptop towards John.  “You said something about potential when we were arguing and it sparked something I hadn’t considered as a possibility.”

John approached and squinted down at the screen.  “Potential energy?  What’s that got to do with magic?”

Sherlock practically twitched in his enthusiasm.  “It’s not the energy itself that could help, per say, but more the idea of it that could have an effect on me.  Potential energy is what something contains in regard to various factors, both external and internal.  We’ve already helped the magic inside me amplify its potential by increasing its ability to perform, by getting me my own wand to channel it and teaching me the proper techniques.  But potential energy also factors in with internal aspects and how that affects the energy that’s produced.  If I am the representation of the potential energy, that means my magic – the physical manifestation of the energy that will result from the potential – is only as strong as each of the aspects of potential available.  If my mind doesn’t have the confidence to believe that I can perform the spell, the amount of potential there is significantly less than it could be and therefore does not result in a strong output after the spell is performed.”

Frowning, John leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.  “So what you’re saying is that your own mind is stopping you from being able to perform magic?”

“Precisely!  The only thing stopping me from making the magic work is my own head!  If I can get over my own fear and belief that it won’t work, I think I can allow it to do what it’s already trying to accomplish rather than blocking it.”

“You just need more confidence, then.”  Sherlock scowled at him and John shook his head, grinning.  “Seems perfectly reasonable to me.  Leave it to you to use science as a means of getting your magic to work.  How are you going to get over this mental block of yours, hmm?”

“I think half of it is simply realizing that this is what’s stopping me.”  He pulled out his wand from his trouser pocket and stared at it.  “I’ve never been able to accomplish anything truly solid in regard to magic, which has caused me to lose any belief in myself I might have had when it comes to being a wizard.  But if I look at it from this standpoint, I can see it as a sort of…”  He paused and cleared his throat before continuing.  “A virus, I suppose, and now that I know it exists, I can make the appropriate moves to rid myself of it.”  He swallowed thickly and seemed to lose himself in staring at his wand.  John, concerned at the sudden vacant expression in his eyes, approached him and set a light hand on his wrist.  The movement jolted him and he shook his head, turning to stare at John instead.

“This is about more than just the magic, isn’t it?” John asked.  Sherlock winced and looked away, shame flushing his cheeks.  John squeezed his wrist and guided his face back up with a gentle hand.  “What is it, love?  What’s going on in there?”

“You won’t like it.”  When John simply blinked up at him in reply, Sherlock sighed.  “It’s something that happened when…on the tarmac.  Something someone said when I…wasn’t fully myself.  That there’s a virus in the data and without removing it, I can’t find the means to fully succeed.”

Rather than stepping away at the roundabout mention of Sherlock’s overdose, as Sherlock expected, John stepped closer.  “Moriarty.  That sounds like something he’d say.  But…you’re saying there a sort of, I dunno, inner Moriarty dialogue telling you you’re not good enough?”

"I suppose you could say that.  Most of the time I can ignore it, but when it seems to be right – “

“It’s not,” John interrupted fiercely.  “Jesus, it couldn’t be more wrong.  Moriarty’s dead, his whole network is, and that’s completely because of you.  You’ve defeated the virus, Sherlock.  It can’t come back.”

Sherlock let out a breath and ran his free hand through his hair, clenching it tightly at the base of his neck.  “I know that, logically, but it lurks at the back of my mind nonetheless.  All of my doubts, manifesting themselves in the form of his voice.  It’s constantly trying to point out my faults, remind me of those I couldn’t help, pointing out all of the ways I could fail – “

“Then obviously I’ve been a shit boyfriend, and a shit best friend before that, if you can’t drown it out with my reassurances of your brilliance.”  John moved Sherlock’s wand arm down to his side and pulled him into another tight hug.  “If I’d been reminding you of how fantastic you are, as a person and at everything you do, maybe it could have helped you squash down his voice in your head.”  John tilted his face so that his mouth was just below Sherlock’s ear and lowered his voice to a whisper.  “You’re the only one who could do what you do, my love.  Your mind is dazzling and your heart is even brighter.  The capacity you have to love and care for those you value constantly takes my breath away.  You manage to find a new way to astound me every day, even before we found out that you can do magic.  And the magic’s just a small part of it – you were the most brilliant creature I’d ever met even before that.  I’m honoured to know you, humbled to be loved by you, and if you need to be reminded of your fantastic capabilities every day for the rest of our lives, I’ll consider it a gift to be the one to do it.”

As John spoke, Sherlock pulled back far enough to see his face.  His mouth fell open into a wide circle of surprise, his eyebrows rising higher on his forehead with each word John spoke.  When John was finally finished, he blinked slowly and eventually pulled John into his chest.  John could feel him shaking and clutched him closer, digging his fingers into his dressing gown.  They only separated when the distant sound of Cecelia crying caught their attention.

“I’ll get her,” Sherlock muttered as they broke apart, his voice thick and vaguely quivering.  John nodded and took his wand, watching Sherlock head up the stairs.  By the time he returned with Cecelia, his face was more composed and John had made them both more tea.

“There’s my _Síleas_ ,” John said while leaning in to kiss her forehead.  She grumbled and fussed away from John’s lips, causing John to cluck his tongue at her.  “Someone’s grumpy.  Maybe a snack and we’ll see if your papa’s ready to give his wand work another try?”  John grinned up at Sherlock to see his reaction to the new title.  He wasn’t disappointed when he spotted Sherlock’s softened expression, a small smile at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at Cecelia.  John snagged a banana and knife from the kitchen and dragged the highchair out to the sitting room.  Once Cecelia was settled in and happily being fed small pieces of fruit, John raised a brow at Sherlock.

Sherlock snatched up his wand and moved into the middle of the room, glancing around him with a frown.  Spotting a book on the coffee table, he cleared his throat and raised his wand.  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the air out slowly.  He felt more than heard John move to his side, placing a hand with light fingers on his waist.

“You’ve got this,” he whispered close to Sherlock’s ear.  “No virus is going to stop you.”

Sherlock quirked his lips and seamlessly waved the wand in the correct motion, stating in a clear voice, “Wingardium Leviosa!”  The book he pointed at shook and, for the first time since they’d started to practice, gradually rose into the air.  John heard Sherlock let out a gasp and his arm fell to his side in shock.  The book followed the motion, landing on the table with a thud that seemed as loud as an explosion in the quiet of the room.

“I…did it,” Sherlock breathed.  John laughed and rubbed his hand along Sherlock’s hip, squeezing and scratching his fingers into the fabric of his trousers.  “My God, it actually worked.  I just levitated a book.”

“You just levitated a book,” John agreed, shifting around so that he was in front of him.  “You, Sherlock Holmes, are a wizard.”

Sherlock stared at his wand, clutching it tighter.  “I’m a wizard.”  He didn’t even comment on the repetition, instead pulling John into his arms.  They laughed together, mashing their lips in a sloppy but exuberant kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *hopes desperately that me bullshitting my way through science explanations makes sense*


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock doesn't talk to Mycroft, Mycroft goes to him. What he reveals may be enough to break the fragile relationship the two of them already have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so fair warning, angst and plot development ahoy. My beta [Ashlee1989](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989) was a huuuuuge part in helping me figure out this idea. Mycroft is my absolute favorite (this man is my child and I will protect him with my life) so I wanted to incorporate him a bit more in this story than I was able to with FI. Hence, ANGST AND DRAMA. (Don't worry though, I love him too much not to give him a happy ending)

Sherlock continued to practice and improve his magic throughout the weekend.  Finally he had managed to find the right combination to allow the magic to work, successfully casting basic spells and brewing potions.  By Monday, he hardly went anywhere in the flat without his wand in hand, finding new spells to test out and studying their results.  John found himself grateful he’d placed a Homenum Revelio on both the flat doors in case Mrs. Hudson or another Muggle decided to drop by unexpectedly.

John was coming down to the flat proper from putting Cecelia down for her afternoon nap when he felt the spell activate.  He rushed down the rest of his steps and breathed a sigh of relief when it was Mycroft standing at the bottom of them.

“John,” Mycroft said with a nod.  His hand clutched at the handle of his umbrella, his grip more fierce than usual.  He cleared his throat and waved for John to precede him into the flat.  Though he did as indicated, John couldn’t help but feel that something was off about him.

Sherlock sat in his chair, his violin sprawled over his lap.  He plucked at the strings as he watched John and Mycroft enter, his eyes narrowing at his brother.  As soon as he had confirmation that the revealing charm was only set off by Mycroft, he set aside his violin and dug his wand out of the cushions where he’d obviously shoved it away in haste.

“Did Sherlock call you?” John asked Mycroft, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.  Sherlock’s only reply was to roll his eyes, twirling his wand in his hand.  Mycroft stood in the centre of the sitting room, shifting back and forth on his feet in the most overtly nervous motion John had ever seen from him.  John pointed a thumb over his shoulder into the kitchen.  “Should I make tea?”  When nobody responded, John nodded and muttered to himself, “Yeah, I’m going to make tea,” and headed into the other room.

Sherlock toyed with his wand, willfully ignoring Mycroft’s presence.  Narrowing his eyes on his skull on the mantle, he waved at it and declared, “Accio skull!”  It shuddered briefly, knocking against the wall behind it, before suddenly shooting off the mantle at Sherlock.  He let out a low grunt as it thumped into his stomach, causing him to drop his wand to the floor with a clatter.  Mycroft huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“Showing off, little brother?” he drawled.  Sherlock raised a brow at him and held the skull up to his eyes, examining it.  Mycroft shook his head and moved his glare to the fireplace.  “I’m…glad you seem to be progressing well with it, regardless.”

Sherlock’s head shot around to gape at him, but John entered balancing three mugs of tea before he could comment.  He set his own on the small table beside his chair, passing Mycroft one and holding Sherlock’s out to him.  When Sherlock didn’t move to take it, John placed it on the floor beside his chair instead.

“So, Mycroft,” John said as he grabbed his tea and sipped it.  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Displeasure,” Sherlock muttered, bending down to snatch up his wand once more.  John kicked a foot out at him, but Sherlock folded his knees up out of the way just in time.  Mycroft set his untouched tea down on the coffee table behind him and cleared his throat.

“I believe you both went to visit our parents and learn more about our family’s magical past?” Mycroft began, focusing his gaze on Sherlock.  “Despite the fact that I insisted otherwise.”

“Telling me I won’t like what I’ll find out is hardly insisting otherwise,” Sherlock remarked, setting the skull on the knee that still sat bent on his seat.  “Honestly, Mycroft, did you really think something as vague as all that would convince me not to go talk to Mummy?  Besides, aren’t you always insisting that I ought to go visit them more often?  I was merely performing my sonly duties.”

“Always ready to do what you should already be doing when there’s something for you to learn.”  Mycroft paced over to the window, addressing his next question to the glass.  “Did you discover what you were looking for?”

“Some of it.”  Sherlock nudged the skull, causing it to turn slightly to the left and right at the direction of his fingertips.  “Why did you apologize?”

“I wouldn’t expect that to be what you really want to know.”  Mycroft turned and the brothers’ eyes finally met.  “What did you learn?”

“Not nearly enough.”  Sherlock placed the skull on the arm of his chair and rose to his feet.  “The only reason you would say you’re sorry is if you’d done something you genuinely believed was wrong.  You knew I hadn’t learned anything about Mummy’s question mark yet, so then what did you expect us to learn that would require an apology even before learning it?”

Impossibly, Mycroft straightened even more than usual.  “Do you really wish to know?  Keep in mind, Sherlock, that the information you gain can never be given back.  I don’t say this often, but perhaps in this case ignorance truly is the better of options.”

Sherlock’s hands clenched at his sides, his wand still clutched tightly in one of them.  “What did you do, Mycroft?”

Mycroft sighed and returned to the centre of the room, a player settling upon his stage before beginning his performance.  “You first started to genuinely show signs of magic when you were five years old.  You always were an emotional child and your magic seemed to stem off of your feelings, so once you learned the many joys of temper tantrums, the magic became…volatile, to say the least.  Mother and Father were ecstatic, obviously, and encouraged your magic.  I knew it couldn’t be shown out of our own home, but they were too thrilled about the promise you showed to care.

“When I came home from school for the summer, several months after you turned six, it had only grown stronger.  The magic was practically the only thing anyone could discuss.  That school year had been my first away from home and…I did not feel particularly valued, despite how accomplished I had become.  Your magic appeared to be the only thing that was cause for any sort of celebration.”

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” John spoke for the first time since their exchange began.  “Sherlock was already the younger child, given more attention because of that alone, and then when he had the magic…they would have been excited and focused on him, for the most part.  Definitely more than they were already.”

Mycroft nodded and leveled his gaze on John.  “Not unlike what happened when you received your own letter, Dr. Watson.  But while your sister decided to wallow in her own misery, I did more than that.”

"You wouldn’t,” Sherlock muttered, his voice low.  John could just make out the barely contained fury in his voice.  “Not even you would be that cruel, Mycroft.”

Mycroft continued as though Sherlock hadn’t spoken.  “I was thirteen and ought to have been over such petty feelings as jealousy.  I had been an older brother for over half of my life and shouldn’t be so affected by being overlooked.  I admit, however, that the fact that Sherlock had been given this gift while I had apparently been overlooked caused me more distress than I could have expected.

“I attempted to show the same enthusiasm as they did, but in reality I sought as much information about the wizarding world I could.  Through engaging in discussions with Mother in particular, I was able to learn about the question mark both she and Sherlock had been given by the quill and that we would learn on his eleventh birthday whether he would be allowed to attend Hogwarts.  Naturally, based on how much more adept he appeared to be, they assumed a letter would be inevitable.  When the time came, however, as you doubtless learned, they didn’t even received the rejection letter Mother was sent.  Thank God I had suggested years before that we refrain from mentioning Hogwarts to Sherlock until it was confirmed, or his disappointment would have been enormous.

“I dreaded the arrival of the letter, understandably, but the lack of anything at all was even more alarming.  I knew it to be my fault and was selfishly grateful Sherlock had no idea what he had lost.  He hadn’t a clue what could have been, potentially halted due to my own childish foolishness, and I decided then that the best way I could make up for what I had done was to help him learn to defeat the same emotions that had defeated me five years before.”

“What did you do, Mycroft?”  Sherlock’s voice shook in his anger and he flexed his fingers on his wand.  Mycroft ignored the offensive position he had taken and took a step closer to Sherlock.  His face, the most open John had ever seen it, was contorted in pain.

“I also learned of Albus Dumbledore and his position as headmaster of Hogwarts from Mother, although she hardly knew much beyond his name.  A few weeks before I was due to return to school, your magic grew particularly strong.  Other than preparation for my return, I was predominantly ignored in favour of watching you for signs of magic.  It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I…I want you to know that it was done out of passion, rather than any direct malice or expectation that what I was doing would have any effect whatsoever.

“I wrote a letter to Dumbledore.  I explained who I was and the story behind you and your magic.  I…had noticed that you were brilliant like myself and recalled the troubles I had dealt with my entire life, being characterized as the genius and made into an outcast by the other children constantly because of it, and expected you would experience as well.  Your emotions were more unguarded than mine, however, and I expected that as difficult as it had been for me, it would be significantly worse for you.  I may have exaggerated slightly in describing these potential issues when I wrote of them to Dumbledore.”

“Jesus,” John breathed, his eyes wide.  “That’s low even for you, Mycroft.”

“I genuinely thought that I was doing something that would be in your best interests,” Mycroft snapped.  His knuckles holding his umbrella had turned completely white where he gripped it in an iron hold.  “I was afraid that being different, being even more exceptional than you already were, would only make your life more hellish.  Part of my actions were done out of jealousy, but an equally large part came from a desire to ensure you wouldn’t be hurt or used for your brilliance as I had been.

“I sent it out by our post with nothing more than Dumbledore’s name and hoped that would be enough to get it to him.  I still haven’t any idea if it reached him since I never received a reply, but when you never got a letter, I expected I had been successful.  Perhaps Dumbledore took it as a sign that the amount of magic you had would not make it worthwhile for you to attend, or perhaps it had no influence whatsoever.  Regardless, as soon as I realized what I had done, I regretted it immediately.  I had let my emotions win out over reason and vowed that would be the first and only time they would do so.

“I wrote him again, attempting to right the wrong I had done, but again received no reply.  I had attempted to protect you from those who might harm you, when I had done far worse than they ever could.  I instantly blamed myself when your letter never came and vowed that, although you would not learn magic, I would teach you myself all I knew.  By reinforcing that caring wasn’t an advantage, I hoped that you would not be hurt in the same ways that I was and would be better for that.  While you seemed to have taken to my advice, I promised myself that I would protect you from everything I could, including myself.  It wasn’t enough to truly make up for the mistake I had made, but it was the only way I could hope to illustrate my regret for what I had done.

“After a few years in the British government, the Minister for Magic at the time approached me with the thought of becoming the Muggle liaison.  Due to my connection with you, and therefore my knowledge of magic despite being a Muggle, it was believed that I would be the ideal candidate for the position.  The fewer Muggles to know of the world, the better off everyone was.  I accepted the offer when it was given to me, hoping that it would be another way for me to look over you, particularly since you were openly rejecting me by that point.”

"So you interfered with my future and got a job out of it,” Sherlock sneered.  His wand shook in his hand and John carefully extricated it from his grasp, hoping to avoid any potential accidents.  “I never went to Hogwarts to learn what I could accomplish and you were given an advancement out of it.”

“I did it so that I could protect you, Sherlock!” Mycroft retorted.  His face twisted in a combination of fury and anguish.  His umbrella clattered to the floor when he lifted his arms to gesture vigorously as he spoke.  “I knew that I had made a mistake and I hoped that by becoming this I could make up for what I had done!  And I have, despite what you may think.  Your enemies are more skilled than you could have known…by being involved in both worlds, I at least had the chance to try and keep you safe.  I may have ruined it for you as a child, but I had to do what I could to at least try to make it right.  By watching out for you on both sides, it was the only way I could think to help.”

“Get out.”  Sherlock’s voice was low enough that it could hardly be heard and quivered with anger.  When Mycroft didn’t move, he forced himself into his face, lips curled into a sneer.  “I said, _get out_.”

Mycroft nodded stiffly, bending around Sherlock to pick up his umbrella.  He shuffled toward the door, but paused at the threshold.  “I hope that someday you will understand.  I made a mistake, when I was young, and have spent the rest of my life trying to make up for it.  And regardless of whether you wish me to, I will continue to protect you until my final days.”  

Sherlock glared at the floor, his arms tight at his sides visibly shaking.  “Leave, Mycroft.  Before we both do something we regret.”  His head snapped up to narrow his eyes at him.  “More than the hell you’ve already created.”  Nodding a final time, Mycroft descended the stairs.  The click of the front door closing resounded like a gunshot in the flat.

“Sherlock…” John started to say, taking a step toward him.  He abruptly walked past John, however, and marched into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.  John sighed, watching the closed door with a frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save Mycroft Holmes From Himself 2kforever (also here's hoping I didn't completely fuck up my son's voice)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is left drained and distracted after Mycroft's revelation, so John decides to call in reinforcements to attempt to patch things up between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the emotions at the beginning of this chapter. Sherlock's really a smol sad nugget, but John'll make it better.

Sherlock remained in the bedroom for the rest of the day and into the evening.  John tried to lure him out of his own head and comfort him, going in to join him after Cecelia had been put to bed.  He found him lying on his side facing away from the door, dressed in his full suit and on top of the covers.  His knees were bent up in a loose fetal position, so John moved to sit in the open space just below his bum.  John placed a hand on the lower half of his leg, rubbing and squeezing it through his trousers in what he hoped was a reassuring movement.  He waited to see if Sherlock was awake before he spoke.

He shifted around enough to glance up at John.  Trails of dried tears shone along his face, barely visible in the dim light.  John’s chest tightened at the sight, as though he had been locked into a too small room that was shrinking in on him.  He’d never seen such a vulnerable expression on Sherlock and hoped this would be the only time.

“Oh Sherlock,” he breathed, instantly shooting up to move to the other side of the bed.  He settled in close and lifted his arm, opening himself up to encourage Sherlock if he wanted the comfort.  Sherlock shuffled forward instantly, clenching his hands in John’s shirt and tucking his face into the crook of his neck.  John wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock’s back, tangling their legs together so that they could be as close as possible.  He felt Sherlock sniffle into his collar and held him firmly.  “I’m so sorry, love.  Do you want to talk about it?”

Sherlock shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I…how do I respond to this?  What am I supposed to do?”

John situated his head so that it rested over Sherlock’s shoulder and considered his questions carefully.  “I don’t think there’s anything you should do differently, honestly.  This doesn’t change the fact that you do have that magic in you and that you’re learning it, to hell with actually going to Hogwarts.  Mycroft’s fuck up didn’t stop you.  I mean, we can’t even know for sure if it did anything in the first place.”

Lifting his face just enough to meet John’s eyes, Sherlock said, “A letter never came, not even saying I couldn’t attend.  What happened to it if Mycroft didn’t have any effect on the outcome?”

“Letters get lost and misplaced…I can’t imagine that a few letters from a jealous boy that weren’t even sent through the usual route would really have an effect on such an enormous decision.”

“You’ve told me before that the owls for Harry Potter refused to give up until their owner received them.”  Sherlock shook his head, his eyes clenched shut.  “Shouldn’t the same have happened for me?”

John placed a hand on Sherlock’s cheek, wiping away the remnants of his visible pain and watching as he blinked his eyes back open.  “I don’t know.  I really don’t know, love.  But I genuinely think that your brother regrets what he did and will until the day he dies.  Mycroft’s a dick sometimes, but he really is a good brother.  Coming from someone whose sister has never supported him or done as much for her brother as Mycroft has for you, believe me when I say that I truly believe that.”

Sherlock frowned and buried his face back into John’s neck.  He rubbed his cheek into the fabric at his shoulder, snuffling deeply.  He huffed warm breaths against John’s neck and John suspected he may be crying again.  John clutched him impossibly closer and simply let him be, waiting for him to compose himself in the comfort of his arms.

“Mycroft has done things that I thought were awful before, but this…”  Sherlock’s voice, when it finally came from the area of John’s shoulder, was muffled by the fabric he nearly had stuffed into his mouth.  “It’s too much.  John, I – “

“Hush, babe, I’ve got you.”  John felt his hiccupping breaths, almost on the verge of hyperventilating, and rubbed his back, making soothing noises into his ear.  “Breathe, come on.  Relax, I’m here.”

Eventually, with John’s coaxing, his breathing calmed and he slumped into John’s arms, obviously exhausted.  John brushed the hair away from his forehead and kissed the skin there, rubbing the wetness from his face.  Sherlock sighed and pushed into the movement, seeking John’s comfort.  He fell asleep soon after that, his body wrung out by the abundance of emotions.  John kept him close, refusing to leave his side even to change or turn off the light, and joined him not long after in sleep.

~~~

The next day, Sherlock refused to mention what had happened with Mycroft.  He attempted to go about his usual business as normal, but John could sense that something was off.  His normal exuberance was dulled, as though the knowledge from yesterday had taken the joy from what he had been accomplishing.  A case, normally less than what he would have gone out of the way to take, popped up in the afternoon, and John begged off from it with Cecelia as an excuse.  As soon as Sherlock was off to the Yard, however, John snatched up his mobile to make a call, the plan he had been contemplating set to begin.

The case kept Sherlock busy for the two days it took John to organize everything he needed.  While Lestrade had him spending his time flitting between crime scenes and Molly’s lab at Barts, John snuck off with Cecelia in tow.  They headed out around the corner and down the road towards a tiny café, Cecelia’s pram completely covered to fight off the rain that raged down on them.  John attempted to keep his collar up and hood down, but inevitably by the time they arrived he was drenched through.

Pushing his fringe out of his eyes, John glanced around in search of a table tucked out of the way.  Before he could find one, however, he noticed a familiar face motioning him over.

“James, how are you?”  John shook Sholto’s outstretched hand and pulled the cover off Cecelia’s pram.  While she blinked up at him, John draped his soaking jacket over the back of his chair and attempted to shake loose the water from his hair.  James smiled down at Cecelia, waving at her before turning back to John with a nod.

“Well, thank you,” he replied as John sat.  His posture, while still military straight, seemed more comfortable than when they last met at John’s wedding and his expression had grown into a relaxed contentment John had never seen on him before.  The look suited him and made John grin wider.  “Perhaps now I’ll get to learn more about why we’ve been called into the city for the afternoon.”  He looked down at the floor and John followed his gaze, blinking down into enormous brown eyes in a black and tan face.  The medium-sized German shepherd cocked its head at John before turning to glance at Cecelia.  It looked up at James, waiting for him to notice, and without looking down his hand moved down to scratch its ears. 

“Hopefully it’ll be worth it in the end,” John sighed, keeping an eye on the door.  “Who’s this, then?”

“Newest suggestion from the therapist – service dog, to help with mobility and emotional support.  It took a bit of convincing, but I finally decided to give it a try.  Thor and I’ve been together for a few months now.  She’s a good little lassie and we’ve gotten on well, haven’t we, girl?”  At the sound of her name, Thor glanced up at James and let her tongue loll out of the side of her mouth.  James nodded and patted her, adjusting one of his legs so she could settle closer.  Cecelia squealed and reached out for her, but Thor simply shuffled up against James and stared back at her.  When James noticed, he nudged her with his foot in what was obviously a familiar silent form of communication and Thor immediately approached the pram.  Cecelia patted lightly at her nose and Thor licked her fingers, causing Cecelia to giggle.

“Thor, eh?”  John offered his own hand for a sniff and rubbed her back.  She sniffed at his jeans and accepted his petting for a moment before returning to her spot close to James.  “She’s a beauty, although the name’s a bit…different.”

James chuckled and shrugged a shoulder.  “Got it from the family who trained her.  Apparently they let the oldest son name her and he’s a huge superhero fan.  He insisted that she was a Thor, and I rather like it.  She strikes me as a god of thunder.”

John nodded and refocused on the door when he heard it open.  With a sigh, he muttered, “Come on, Mycroft, where the hell are you?”

“Mycroft?” James asked with a frown.  “Do you mean Sherlock’s brother?”

John started to unbury Cecelia from her hat and coat, setting her on his lap when he was done.  “That’s the one.  I’m hoping that the two of you might be able to talk and help me fix something between him and Sherlock.  The situation’s not completely the same as everything you’ve gone through, obviously, but I think you might be able to understand and possibly give us a hand in figuring out what to do next.”

"Well, I’ll do what I can.”  James glanced at the door and lifted his chin to gesture at it.  “I believe that may be the man we’re looking for.  Looks like a Holmes to me.”

Mycroft shook out his umbrella at the entrance, his expression knitted with doubt.  John waved him over and Mycroft carefully picked his way through the close tables.  When he spotted James, one of his eyebrows cricked up in the faintest sign of confusion.  “Major James Sholto.  A pleasure.”

James stood to shake Mycroft’s hand and pull a third chair over to their table.  Despite Mycroft’s own impressive height, James towered over him.  “Mr. Holmes.  I hoped that we might meet someday.”

“Mycroft, please.”  He sat and glanced between John and James.  “Why do I suspect I am about to be subjected to some sort of intervention?  I must admit, this is not what I expected when you asked to meet, John.”

John shrugged and scrounged through the diaper bag at the bottom of the pram, pulling out a small container of Cheerios.  “I just thought it might be good for you to meet.  Given what happened the other day, I though James might have some valuable input.”

“What happened the other day?” James asked, his eyes on Mycroft.  John explained as easily as he could, keeping out the fact that magic was involved.  James’ brow furrowed as he listened, Mycroft remaining silent but tapping a finger on the top of his umbrella in anxious agitation.  Once John was finished, James reached a hand out and surprised all of them by placing it over Mycroft’s.  Mycroft blinked down at their hands and raised his face to James’, his expression curious but emotionless.

“Guilt is something I certainly have experience with,” James mumbled, his eyes never leaving Mycroft’s.  “Though the fact that you seem to have done so much to attempt to fix it is more than I’ve ever done in my situation.”

Mycroft’s throat worked through a swallow and he lowered his head.  “Nonsense.  You had already done more than required, for your country and your soldiers, than most do in their lifetimes.  You deserve to be lauded as the hero you are rather than feel guilt over the events that were beyond your control.”

James chuckled and Mycroft’s head shot back up at the sound.  “That may be true, but the guilt remains regardless.  There is more I could have done, perhaps given myself to save my men or done more to help the families that were left behind rather than hiding myself away.  I am attempting to make up for it now, but there are many times when my guilt is far worse than any threats made against me.”

“You made the choices you thought were best, Major – there was nothing more you could have done.  The fact that others make you think you aren’t worthy of being praised for the sacrifices you’ve made is shameful.”

They shared a smile, the emotion shocking for John, who had never seen Mycroft do so genuinely in the years he had known him.  The two of them continued to speak, moving on to less serious topics.  Their attentions were completely focused on each other, John forgotten or ignored.  John couldn’t help but grin to himself as he watched James’ hand tighten over Mycroft’s when he managed to make Mycroft chuckle.  Though it hadn’t been his main intention when he brought them together to meet, the sparks that seemed to naturally fly between them the second they met made John fluff up a bit in pride.  He left them to a moment’s privacy to grab himself a coffee and some warm water for Cecelia’s bottle.  When he returned a few minutes later, the two of them hadn’t even noticed John had been gone.

Though he loathed to interrupt them when they were getting on so well, John took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat.  “I was hoping, James, that we might be able to get your help in mending fences between Mycroft and Sherlock.  You and Sherlock seemed to get on well at the wedding, and with your background in dealing with making major decisions that don’t end the ways we expect, I thought maybe he might listen to you when he refuses to speak to Mycroft.”

“I’d do anything to help,” James replied, seeming to remember their purpose and pulling away from Mycroft.  The two still remained seated closer than typical for a pair who had just met, and John noticed that Mycroft’s free hand had at some point moved down to rest on Thor’s head, but neither made a motion to move further away from the other.  James looked away from Mycroft long enough to nod at John before turning warm eyes back on Mycroft.  “If you think I could do any good, I’d be honoured to give it a try.”

Mycroft looked down at Thor, a tiny smile on his face.  “Though I appreciate the thought, I’m not entirely sure what good it will do.  This may be the final error in regard to my brother that finally destroys whatever bond we might have had.”

James tilted his head and encouraged Mycroft to look back up at him.  “Let me try?  I would like to see if I can help you with this, Mycroft.”

Though he looked doubtful, Mycroft nodded in agreement.  “Very well.  If you really think it will do any good.”  They both turned to John, waiting for him to continue.

John shifted Cecelia into a more comfortable position and leaned forward.  “Right, so here’s what I’m thinking…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE IT'S JAMES SHOLTO. And OH BOY welcome to my absolute favorite rare pair ship in the Sherlock universe, James Sholto and Mycroft Holmes. Y'all should def feel free to come holler at me on Tumblr about this ship because I have many strong emotions about shycroft. 
> 
> Thanks goes to the groupchat for the inspiration to give James a service dog - Thor is a doggo I knew very well when I was younger. My best friend's family got a German shepherd when we were about eleven and her older brother got to name her, hence Thor the female pupper. She was absolutely the sweetest dog on earth, so it felt appropriate to give her to James.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of their dinner at the Burrow arrives and John introduces Sherlock to the Weasleys. A bit of John's background is discussed and, once they return home, they encounter a surprise with Cecelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BURROW TIME. Just as an FYI, I am basing my timeline so that it works with Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, hence a couple of the things that go down in this chapter. Also background mollstrade ahoy.

On the next Saturday, John texted Lestrade to make sure he didn’t pull Sherlock away on a case and miss their dinner at the Burrow.  He didn’t have any idea exactly who would be there, but he expected the crowd would be fairly large.  Even just with the most immediate family and their spouses, it was likely to be close to twenty people in attendance.

To distract himself from overthinking the upcoming evening too much, John spent a good part of the day cleaning the flat.  Sherlock amused himself making a potion and Cecelia crawled around after John, occasionally undoing the cleaning he tried to accomplish.  At around half four, John emerged from the bedroom wearing one of his nicer jumpers.  He cleared his throat as he approached Sherlock so that he wouldn’t startle him.  Sherlock hummed in reply, studying his potion carefully.

“I’d clean all that up pretty soon,” John said as he sat at the other chair.  “Molly’s most likely on her way over now and we really can’t afford to have a Muggle seeing all of this.”

“Why is Molly coming over if we’re leaving?” Sherlock asked.  He swept up the remnants of his ingredients into an empty bowl, turning off his Bunsen burner as he did.

“She’s gonna watch Cecelia while we’re gone.  I told Ron when I replied to his message that maybe we should hold off on bringing her round until next time, that way everyone’s just meeting you for now and her when it’s a bit less mad.  Thought it would be less stressful that way and Molly’s offered to watch her whenever she’s free and we need her.”

Sherlock nodded and poured his cooling potion into the empty bottle at his side.  Once inside, he twirled it slowly to watch the thick liquid swirl densely and shoved it into John’s face.  “A completed Confusing Draught!  Third potion I’ve successfully concocted.”

John took the bottle and studied it carefully.  “It looks great.  Have you tried the Living Death again since you had your breakthrough with your magic?”

“Not yet – I wanted to try a few of the simpler ones first before possibly wasting any of the harder to find ingredients.  With how well the others have gone, however, I suspect that when I do it will be equally successful.”

John planted a kiss on the top of his head when he rose back to his feet to get Cecelia from her pillow fort in the sitting room.  “Knew you’d be brilliant at this,” he muttered into his ear, grinning widely at the shiver the brush of breath caused.  He winked at Sherlock as he backed into the sitting room and Sherlock rolled his eyes in reply.

With Cecelia’s nappy freshly changed, John skipped down the stairs with her just as Molly was walking up the main steps.  She turned around from her place at the door at the sound of John approaching and Cecelia squealed at her, her arms waving in John’s face in excitement.  Molly smiled warmly at her, completely ignoring John, and reached out a hand to her.

“Hello, beautiful girl,” Molly cooed, giggling when Cecelia clutched one of her fingers in a tight, tiny fist.  Cecelia yanked her finger around with happy, echoing giggles, pulling the tip into her mouth.  Molly took it back and attempted to favour her with a stern look that came out more as amused.  “Now, none of that, little miss.  You don’t know where that finger’s been.”

“Given the fact that we live with Sherlock, it’s probably not anything she hasn’t seen before.”  John chuckled and handed Cecelia off to Molly’s waiting arms.  “Thanks for this, Molls.  We appreciate it.”  Remembering what Sherlock had been doing, John shouted him a warning loud enough to be heard in the kitchen in case he hadn’t noticed the Revelio tipping him off.  “Sherlock, Molly’s here!”

Sherlock popped up in the sitting room doorway.  “Molly.  I just finished clearing up my things in the kitchen, John.  Just give me a moment to change and I’ll be ready to go.”

They followed him into the flat proper, Sherlock heading for the bedroom while Molly brought Cecelia with her over to the sofa.  “There’s formula in the cupboard for when it’s time for her to eat dinner,” John explained, pointing a thumb over his shoulder into the kitchen.  “If she’s interested in more than just that, there are a couple of different fruits in there as well or you can warm up some waffles or porridge for her.  A few seconds in the microwave for the waffles and they should be fine.  She’ll need a bath and usually ends up in bed around seven, although I doubt she’ll sleep right away, particularly with us gone.  Make sure she’s got her stuffed bee in the crib with her or she’ll never even try to sleep, and there’s a bookcase up there with a bunch of options that should help.  Sherlock and I have been working through the Winnie the Pooh books with her, but if something else strikes your fancy, feel free to go for it.  I’m not sure what time we’ll be back, but it shouldn’t be too late.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, John,” Molly declared, swaying Cecelia in her arms.  “Greg’s got a late night tonight anyway, so he won’t be expecting me at any particular time.  You know I’m always thrilled to spent time with my favourite girl.”

John grinned mischievously at Molly’s mention of Lestrade.  “Things are going well, then?  You and Greg?”

Molly’s cheeks flushed at the question and she nodded vigorously.  “Great, actually.  He asked me to move in with him a few weeks ago.”

“That’s fantastic!”  John had thought Lestrade looked as though he had been itching to share something with him the last time both he and Sherlock were at a crime scene together.  He assumed that Lestrade had wanted to wait until John’s own life settled down more before sharing the news, but he was thrilled to find out that they were getting on so well.  The two of them danced around each other almost as long as he and Sherlock, and they finally got themselves sorted out not long after Cecelia was born.  Since then, both of them were the happiest John had ever seen them.  He wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up engaged by the end of the year at the rate they were going.

Sherlock reemerged from the bedroom, dressed all in sleek black, and finished settling his suit jacket around his shoulders.  He held his hands out to his sides, showing himself off for approval, when he realized John was watching him.  From the smug smirk at his lips, he was fully aware of how good he looked, but John was more than happy to indulge him a bit.  He whistled his appreciation and Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned a dusty pink at the compliment.

“Ready?” John asked, wrapping a loose arm around his waist when he came to his side.  Sherlock nodded and turned to Molly.

“Thank you, Molly,” he said and leaned forward to lightly kiss Cecelia on the head.  “Be good for my pathologist, Cecelia.  I need her in one piece.”

Rather than blushing as she would have only a year ago, Molly responded with a chuckle.  “Like I said to John, it’s really not a problem.  I’ve done a lot of babysitting in my day.  Now go on, both of you, and have fun!”

They grabbed their jackets and waved their goodbyes before descending the stairs.  Once out on the street, Sherlock made to hail a cab but John stopped him by looping his arm through Sherlock’s elbow.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question but followed as John led him down the road, pulling him down a lesser used side street across and down from the flat.  John tucked them away from the gradually brightening street lamps and into an out of the way nook that wasn’t visible from the pavement.

John pulled out his wand and wrapped his free arm around Sherlock’s middle.  “Apparation?” Sherlock asked, moving his arms so that they held John around his neck.  His hands, bare due to the unusually warm autumn air, rubbed light circles on the skin under John’s scarf.

“Yep,” John replied, shivering slightly at Sherlock’s touch.  “The Burrow’s a bit too far away to drive, but luckily for us we’ve got magic on our side.  This way we’ll be there in a heartbeat.”  Making sure Sherlock was fully tucked against him, John waved his wand and they were gone.

They landed just outside the gate, the house looming up in the background.  Sherlock gaped at it over the top of John’ head while John tucked his wand back into his sleeve.  Through his hands that still rested with ease around John’s neck, he felt John heave in a deep breath.  Sherlock tore his eyes away from the Burrow to frown down at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, ducking his face down close to John’s.  John furrowed his brow, but he nodded.

“Just nervous, I suppose.”  John turned enough to look up at the house.  “I’m not worried about them meeting you – the Weasleys will love you, I know that – but I’m still not sure if I’m ready for all of this.  I’m concerned it’ll be awkward or that they’ll be disappointed in me for running away from the wizarding world.”

Sherlock pulled him fully into a hug, tucking John’s head under his chin.  “If they’re anything like Harry or Ron, I’m certain that everything will be fine.  I’ll be here with you the entire time regardless.”

John smiled into Sherlock’s collar.  “I know.  Thank you.”

In answer, Sherlock squeezed him tighter.  After a few minutes of simply holding one another, John sighed and pulled away.  Sherlock looked down at him and John nodded up in reply, favouring him with a small smile.  Linking hands with Sherlock, he opened the gate and pulled him along to the front door.

Before either of them could knock, the door was thrown open.  Highlighted in the bright light from inside was a stout older woman, an apron tied around her waist and a wand in her hand.  The instant she saw John, she tucked her wand into one of the apron’s pockets and threw herself into John’s arms.

“John Watson!” she cried, her voice thick with contained tears.  She squeezed him in a tight grip, sniffling into his shoulder.  John clutched her close and shot Sherlock a sheepish grin over his shoulder.  “It has been far too long!”

“It’s great to see you too, Molly,” John said as she pulled back to look him over.  His smile lowered at her scrutiny, but she soon squeezed his arms reassuringly.

“You look so well, John,” she said quietly before turning to Sherlock.  “I suppose we have this young man to thank for your visit, don’t we?  This is your gentleman?”

 “Yeah, this is Sherlock.”  John’s face warmed at Molly’s words.  “Sherlock, this is Molly Weasley, Ron’s mother.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley,” Sherlock said as he shook her hand.  She placed her free hand on the other side of his, sandwiching it in her grip.

“Molly, please, dear.  Come in, both of you – I felt you Apparate in through the shields and everyone’s thrilled to see you both.”  She released his hands after patting them in a motherly manner and headed inside.  John stepped up behind Sherlock and placed his hand on the small of his back, both to reassure Sherlock and himself.

Molly led them through the entranceway and into the sitting room.  A handful of people sat chatting merrily on the various mismatched pieces of furniture, including Harry and Ron.  The latter sat on the arm of a plush armchair, his arm around the shoulders of the woman who sat in it.  She leaned forward and spoke animatedly with another ginger man who must have been one of the abundance of Weasleys.  Both of them ignored John and Sherlock’s entrance, absorbed in their own conversation, until Harry took a drink from the glass in his hand and spotted them out of the corner of his eye.

“John!  Sherlock!”  Harry set his glass aside to come shake their hands.  The woman stood at Harry’s exclamation, Ron’s hand trailing down her back as she moved.

“Hermione Granger,” John said with a chuckle, walking up to the woman and hugging her.  “The Golden Trio’s just as close as ever, aren’t they?”

Hermione beamed and pulled away to look John over.  “It helps when two of the three are constantly around each other at work and two of them are married to each other.  I keep Harry in line during the day and move on to Ron at home – it doesn’t give us much of a choice but to stay close.”

Lurking in the doorway, Sherlock smiled to himself as he watched John and Ron shake hands.  He attempted to stay out of the way as John chatted with his old friends, his face growing bright and excited.  Much of his unease seemed to evaporate the moment he was back amongst them.  It pleased Sherlock to see him so happy and readily accepted back into a family he once knew well, but his own stomach sank in discomfort.  Having John’s attention so fully engrossed on anyone other than him or Cecelia was an unusual sensation, yet he didn’t have the heart to push his way in as he would with most everyone else.  For once, John was surrounded by people focused on him rather than Sherlock and he was reluctant to attempt to thrust himself into the middle of everything.  He hovered in the entrance instead, and his attention suddenly caught on noises down the corridor.  Shooting a last glance at John to check whether he noticed, Sherlock frowned to himself and followed the sound.

He made his way down the semi-darkened hallway and into a comfortably bustling kitchen.  Molly stood at the stove, directing her wand to stir whatever sat in the pot before her.  Sherlock openly gaped at the amount of magic being performed with such everyday ease.  A second pot bubbled beside the first, its dial turning to adjust its temperature on its own.  The stove door opened without prompting, a large platter removing itself and floating off to the side to cool.  On the countertop, apples peeled and cut themselves, plopping into a bowl and spinning to mix with sweetened pastry dough.  Sherlock approached the table cautiously, waving a hand over the top of the bowl.  It shifted out of his way with ease, continuing to do its task despite the interruption.  He stared down into it to watch but straightened with a jump at Molly clearing her throat.

She moved to stand at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling.  “John doesn’t perform much magic at home, does he?” she asked.  Sherlock shook his head and Molly lifted her wand, nodding her chin to encourage him to do the same.  Moving a tentative hand into his sleeve, he slipped his wand from its sheath and waited for Molly’s direction.  She turned him to face the sink, glancing down into it in search of something.  Pulling out a dirty spoon, she placed it on the sink top and lifted her wand, waiting for Sherlock to do the same.  He copied the motion and watched as she pointed her wand at the end of the spoon, saying, “Scourgify!”  The shallow, dipped end shuddered and the leftover pastry dough vanished.  She waved at him to do the same, smiling encouragingly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the spoon.  Waving his arm, he declared, “Scourgify,” pointing his wand at it.  The spoon shot up into the air and let out a sputtering noise before dropping back to the counter.  Rather than simply cleaning off the remaining dough, his spell scoured the top layer off the wood, leaving it looking raw and new with its lightened and overly smooth wood.  Sherlock grimaced and tucked his wand back into its sheath while Molly went to inspect it closer.

“Well, that certainly cleaned it, albeit a bit more than I expected.”  Molly eyed him and put the spoon away.  Sherlock shuffled under the scrutiny, but he kept eye contact with her.  “How long have you been working on your magic?”

“A few weeks, but I’ve only really had any success over the past few days.”  Attempting to divert the conversation away from his magic, he asked, “How long have you known John?”

“Oh, we met not long after he finished at Hogwarts.  He and my second oldest, Charlie, were there at the same time, although they didn’t know one another particularly well.  It wasn’t until everything happened with his parents and he decided to join the Order that we met properly.”

Sherlock nodded, wondering how much he could ask Molly to reveal rather than waiting for John to be ready to share it himself.  His curiosity soon got the better of him and he leaned his hands back against the table.  “What was he like back then?  What made him decide to leave?”

Molly took up a tea towel and wiped her hands, contemplating her answer.  “I doubt he was much different than he is now.  Perhaps a bit more rash, given how much younger and less concerned about his personal well-being than he is now, but beyond that he doesn’t strike me as the sort of man to change very much.  He looks more relaxed around you, however – I think this is the calmest I’ve ever seen him and I’ve only spoken with him for a moment.  You balance him well, from what Harry’s told me.”  She narrowed her eyes and studied him, the sensation similar to when his own mother would contemplate him when he was younger.  “As for his choice to leave, it was fairly common after the war, particularly for Muggleborn witches and wizards.  He simply up and left one day without a word.  When we tried to find out what had happened, St. Mungo’s could only tell us that he resigned and left in the same day.  They were devastated, of course – he was a brilliant Healer.”  She sighed and shook her head.  “To know the full story, you’ll have to ask John himself, but I suspect that a large part of it was that he simply felt as though there was nothing left for him in our world.  In the end, it caused him as much harm as good.  I don’t blame him for returning to the Muggle world, the poor dear.”

“The Muggle world didn’t treat him much better,” Sherlock muttered, in a tone he thought was low enough to not be heard.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Molly replied, causing Sherlock’s head to snap up in surprise.  “He met _you_ in the Muggle world, after all.”

“I haven’t always been particularly good for John,” Sherlock started to explain.  He was interrupted by a voice calling down the hall, followed moments later by John appearing in the doorway.

“There you are, Sherlock,” he said, approaching Sherlock and leaning up to kiss his cheek.  “I wondered where you got off to.  I turned to introduce you to Hermione and George and you were gone.”

“I didn’t want to intrude,” Sherlock replied quietly.  John frowned and took up his hand in a tight grip.

“Love, part of the reason why we’re here is to make you a part of this world.  Coming back is exciting, sure, but it’s only because of you that I’m even here right now.  You’re making it worthwhile by doing it with me.”  Sherlock seemed unable to respond, blinking widely down at John.  John grinned and pulled him down into a proper kiss, though he kept it short.  “Sorry to steal him away, Molly,” he called out to her as he pulled Sherlock along behind him when he started to leave the room.

“Not at all, John dear,” she replied, not even attempting to hide her smile.  “The others are out in the garden setting up the table if you’re looking for them.  Get the lot in the sitting room out there, things are almost ready in here!”

John waved his free hand back at her in reply and brought Sherlock back into the sitting room.  The four others stood in a loose circle before the fireplace talking together, but they turned as soon as John and Sherlock entered.  Immediately Hermione approached and held out her hand for Sherlock to shake.

“You must be Sherlock,” she said.  “I’m Hermione, Ron’s wife.  We’ve all been thrilled to meet you ever since Harry told us about you.”

“Harry’s talked about me?” Sherlock asked, surprised.  Harry sent him a shrug and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Sure.  The way you solved that case for us without practically any help from the Aurors, particularly before you had any magical background, I had to tell everybody.  Couldn’t take all the credit for it when my people barely did anything with it, could I?”

“No, they really didn’t,” Sherlock replied matter-of-factly and John rolled his eyes.  He prodded Sherlock in the side, but his face showed he was more amused than annoyed.  Harry and Ron laughed outright at the comment and the third man Sherlock had yet to meet crossed his arms and surveyed him with a smirk.

“You’ve found yourself an amusing one, John, bravo,” the man said.  “George Weasley.  I’m that idiot’s older brother, or one of them at least.”

“Oi, need I remind you that this ‘idiot’ helps you run your business?” Ron interjected.  “Who’s really the idiot here, hmm?”

“You both are,” Hermione declared, shutting them both up effectively.  She turned back to Sherlock and continued.  “Harry’s right, that case would have gone on far longer and most likely would have only gotten worse if you hadn’t been involved.  If you’re ever interested in a job with the Aurors, I’m sure you wouldn’t be rejected.”

“She’s not wrong,” Harry said with a nod.  “And I’m not just saying that because she’s the Minister for Magic and therefore my boss.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he considered Hermione closer.  “Minister?  All of my most recent books have said that position was held by Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“He stepped down at the beginning of the year and suggested Hermione as his replacement,” Harry explained.  “Thankfully the current Wizengamot is a bright one and followed his advice.  She’s been brilliant at it so far.”

Hermione flushed at the compliments.  “It’s a challenge, but surprisingly I’ve enjoyed it.  Kingsley did half of the hard work for me by revamping the entire Ministry for the better.  He deserves his peaceful retirement.”

“I thought I told you two to bring everyone out back,” Molly declared, her head popping around the corner.  “Come on, all of you, the food’s ready and getting cold!”

They followed Molly into the hallway and toward the back of the house, John still clutching Sherlock’s hand.  Outside, a long table that appeared bigger than it should sat laden with numerous dishes.  An older man close to Molly’s age, his red hair thinning and revealing a balding top, had his wand out and was just finishing casting a spell around the area.  As soon as he lowered his arm, the air in the surrounding spot turned a comfortable, controlled temperature.  He meandered around the table and came to Molly’s side, wrapping his arm across her shoulders.

“That should keep things cosy and hopefully nuisance free,” he said.  He spotted John and Sherlock and his free arm swung out in welcome.  “John!  It’s good to see you looking fit and well!  Is this the Sherlock we keep hearing so much about?”

“It is,” John replied, his hand tightening its grip on Sherlock’s.  “Everyone, this is my partner, Sherlock Holmes.  Sherlock, this is…well, a good portion of the immediate Weasley clan.”

Those already settled at their seats at the table waved and shouted out their hellos.  Sherlock nodded but remained silent, keeping John close to his side.  Molly pointed them to seats across from Harry and Ginny halfway down the table and the group settled in to eat.  While the others all began to talk and laugh amongst one another, Sherlock leaned close to speak in John’s ear.

“How many of these are Molly’s children?” he asked, not even trying to keep his surprise from his voice.  John chuckled and settled a hand on Sherlock’s thigh.

“Anybody who’s a ginger is Molly and Arthur’s,” John explained.  He glanced up and down the table.  “Actually, we’re missing one.  Charlie’s probably not able to get away – he works with dragons and usually doesn’t like leaving them to anyone else unless it’s absolutely necessary.  I was at Hogwarts with him the longest, along with Bill, the oldest, Percy, and briefly with George and his twin Fred.  Ron started the fall after I finished and Ginny was the year after that.”  As he mentioned everyone’s names, he gestured at where they sat at the table and Sherlock followed his motions, studying everyone briefly.

“George has a twin?”

John’s face fell and he rubbed his thumb on Sherlock’s thigh, more to comfort himself than Sherlock.  “Had.  Not everyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts made it out alive.”

Sherlock frowned and set his palm across John’s fingers.  “How many people did you have to lose before we met?”

“More than you’d probably want to know, unfortunately.”

He picked up John’s hand and placed a small kiss on his wrist, ducking down to keep it hidden under the edge of the table.  John smiled sadly and looked down at Sherlock glancing up at him under his eyelashes.  “I’m sorry for making you think I was one of them.”

They spent the remainder of the dinner with their hands linked under the table.  The discussion around the group rotated between families and jobs, as it inevitably always did.  Soon John was regaling them with stories of their cases, with Sherlock rolling his eyes at his embellishments and correcting them.  Once the main meal was complete, Molly grabbed a few of them to help clear the table and bring out dessert.  When John attempted to join them, Molly shooed him away.

“You two are our guests; I have more than enough children and children by marriage to do all of the difficult work.”  She winked at them and returned to shouting demands at the others.

John and Sherlock found themselves alone at the table for the first time since they arrived.  John moved their hands to the top of the table, twisting Sherlock’s hand around so that he could trace the veins with a finger.  Sherlock watched him in silence for a moment before finally deciding to pose the question he’d been wondering about for weeks.

“Why did you choose Harry and Teddy as the two to remain in contact with all this time?”  John didn’t look up as Sherlock spoke, but he didn’t take his hand away either, so Sherlock continued.  “I could understand completely separating yourself from the world, particularly since you didn’t practice magic at all since returning to the Muggle world, but you decided not to.  Why that pair in particular?  Was there a specific reason?”

John sighed and glanced toward the back door to ensure they were alone.  “Harry’s parents, Lily and James, were killed by Voldemort when he was only a year old, so he never really knew them.  Teddy’s were friends of mine, Tonks particularly so given our connection at Hogwarts, and both of them died in the Battle, not long after Teddy was born.  We all lost our parents as a result of Voldemort and the hell he wrought over the years and…I just needed someone to talk to, you know? 

“Harry is Teddy’s godfather, so even though Ted’s grandmother was the main one to take care of him, Harry was still a big part of his childhood.  I wanted to be a part of that too, both because of my friendship with Tonks and since we both lost our parents to this war.  Plus Harry needed someone he could just sit and have a conversation with after everything, and in a lot of ways so did I.  It all just sort of happened.  When Harry had Teddy for a weekend, I would come over and we’d chat while watching him together. 

“It was good for both of us, and then when I went to Afghanistan, we decided to stay in touch.  I used to get letters from Teddy with pictures he’d drawn on them, included with whatever Harry sent.  They didn’t know when I got injured, but after I moved in with you, it helped me realise that I had been given another chance and I should stay connected to them, even if I had decided I wouldn’t do magic anymore.  The three of us would call and chat or visit when they were in London, even just me meeting up with Harry for a pint after he got done at work, and it just helped all of us.”

Sherlock’s face had softened gradually as John spoke, his grip on John slowly tightening.  When he finished, Sherlock dropped his head onto John’s shoulder, his free hand shifting around to rest on John’s stomach.  He felt John sigh and turn his head to breathe in the clean scent of Sherlock’s hair.  They sat in silence together in this way until the sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of their heads to shoot up. 

Harry stood in the doorway out to the garden, two mugs in his hands and a grin on his face.  He approached and placed the mugs before them.  “This looks cosy.  Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

John elbowed Harry’s side as he went past, making him chuckle.  “I’ve been waiting on this long enough, Harry James Potter, so let me have my intimate moment.  You’ve enough experience with kids to know we don’t get to have these opportunities very often.”

“Savour the baby stage while you can,” he remarked, making his way back to his seat across from them.  He leaned toward them over the tabletop, hands folded together and glancing at them over the top of his glasses.  “Once she’s fully mobile, it only gets worse.  The good news is that while she’s an only child, she’s the only one to get into mischief.  If she ever gets a sibling, it’ll get twice as mad – once James had Al chasing after him, he went from ridiculous to impossible.  Teddy’s looking after everyone tonight so we can all have a night off, but given the fact that he’s got an entire Weasley clan’s offspring, I don’t envy him. I may have given him permission to call Victorie at Hogwarts if things got out of hand.”

John glanced at Sherlock and took in his scandalised expression.  With a laugh, he patted his hand.  “We haven’t discussed it, but I have a feeling Cecelia’s it for the two of us.  With our job, too many kids around could be dangerous on top of mad.”

The others began to trickle back outside, carrying trays of various pastries and accompaniments for the drinks.  Sherlock had a grand time trying each of Molly’s special treats, much to her pleasure.  As Cecelia’s bedtime passed, however, John felt himself getting anxious to return home.  He tried not to miss putting her to bed as much as possible, enjoying the comfortable domesticity of getting her ready to sleep, usually with Sherlock at his side.  Sherlock began shifting in his seat at the same time, obviously anxious to get home as well.  They made their excuses as the table was cleared and were stopped as they made their way to the front door by Molly.

“I hope that this means we’ll be seeing more of you, John,” she said while kissing his cheek.  She did the same to Sherlock, to his surprise, and lightly patted the spot once she moved away.  “You as well, Sherlock.  We owe you so much for getting him back to us and we have quite a bit of catching up to do with both of you.  I look forward to finding out how your magic and those cases of yours are doing.”

Sherlock leaned in to hug and kiss her cheek back, the motion one John recognised he did with Mrs. Hudson when he couldn’t find a proper reply.  John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and they waved their farewells before John Apparated them away.

The constant, dull bustle of London was a surprise after the relatively peaceful quiet of the Burrow’s countryside.  They huddled close as they emerged from the alley and made their way across the street.  When they unlocked the door and headed up the stairs, they heard voices from the sitting room.  The two of them glanced at each other briefly before running the rest of the way up.

When they entered the sitting room, the sight they stumbled upon was more domestic than they expected.  Molly sat cross-legged on the floor, Lestrade laying on his stomach across from her, and Cecelia crawled between them.  Lestrade held his hands out toward Cecelia, snatching her up and rolling around to his back in order to hold her high over him.  She giggled and kicked her legs in the air, looking down at him as she tried to grab at his face.  He lowered her enough to blow raspberries on her stomach, turning her giggles into shrieks.  Molly watched them, her face bright with happiness, and didn’t notice John and Sherlock’s approach.

“Hopefully she hasn’t eaten recently, otherwise you’ll regret that,” John said once they stepped into the room.  Both Molly and Lestrade’s faces shot around at the sound, Cecelia starting to cry out nonsense words at John’s approach.  Lestrade placed her on his stomach and pushed himself up into a sitting position, turning to face Molly.  “Believe me, I’m speaking from experience with that.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever been covered with,” Lestrade remarked.  When Cecelia squirmed in his lap, he opened his arms and let her crawl out.  She hobbled over to John, patting his shoe and pulling at the laces.  He bent to pick her up and she instantly reached out for Sherlock, leaning toward him with grasping fingers.  Rolling his eyes at her finickiness, John passed her over.  As soon as she was in his arms, she reached up for a handful of Sherlock’s curls and he just barely moved out of the way in time.

Lestrade groaned as he got to his feet and pulled Molly up to hers.  He curled his arm around her waist once they were both upright in a comfortable motion borne of practice.

 “I hope you don’t mind that Greg came over after he was done working,” Molly said.  Her cheeks glowed with happiness as she settled in close to Lestrade’s side.

“Not a problem,” John replied.  He looked over at Sherlock, meeting his eyes in a moment.  Sherlock nodded short enough for it to be barely noticeable and adjusted Cecelia on his hip.

“I’ll get her settled into bed,” Sherlock said.  “Thank you for your help this evening, Molly.  It was much appreciated.”  Without waiting for a reply, he trotted up the stairs to Cecelia’s room.  Lestrade chuckled and led Molly towards the stairs leading to the front door.

“Sounds like that’s our cue to head out,” he said with a smirk.  John shrugged and grinned, leading them down and out into the evening.  Just as he was locking the door, he faintly heard Sherlock crying out and bolted up to them.

He found Sherlock leaning down into Cecelia’s crib.  John rushed to his side, placing a hand on his lower back and following his gaze.  Cecelia laid inside, her bee at her side, and was reaching up for the mobile over her crib.  Everything appeared to be in order, causing John to raise an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Pointing at the mobile, Sherlock gaped and muttered, “John…John, look at the mobile.”

John squinted at it, trying to figure out what was wrong.  He realized suddenly that the star and moon shapes, usually white and dark blue, were changing colours.  As he watched, they shifted from bright green to yellow.  John let out a low laugh and moved his hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Nice trick – which spell did you use?  Will it keep going if we leave the room?”

Sherlock shook his head vigorously.  “That isn’t me.  John, I didn’t cast any spell.”

Frowning, John shot Cecelia a look.  As they watched, she opened and closed her fists in the air above her, eyes on the mobile.  As soon as she did, the figures became violet.  John gasped, his hand falling away from Sherlock in shock.

“ _Síleas_ …are you…”  Before he could finish his sentence, her arms waved again and the mobile spun, causing the shapes to dance above her and make her giggle.  She clapped her hands and the speed slowed, steadily moving and changing colours in rapid succession.

“Holy shit, she’s magic.”  John turned back to Sherlock, his face broken out in an enormous grin.  “Jesus, Sherlock – she’s showing signs of magic!  Cecelia’s got it too!”

Sherlock’s own face showed a small smile, his eyes shimmering in the soft light of the lamp beside her changing table.  “She is.  Your daughter’s a witch, John.”

Openly laughing, John grabbed Sherlock’s face and cradled it close to his own in a gentle grasp.  “ _Our_ daughter.”

Sherlock breathed his gasp into John’s mouth.  Surging up on his toes, John latched his mouth over Sherlock’s in an open mouthed kiss.  Immediately he thrust his tongue in to tangle with Sherlock’s, one of his hands shifting under his skull to adjust his angle.  Sherlock griped him around the waist, digging his nails into the knit of his jumper, and pulled him even closer.  Running the tip of his tongue along Sherlock’s teeth, John tasted his moan and grinned into the kiss.  He lured Sherlock’s into his own mouth to suck on it properly and Sherlock melted against him.

When he felt Sherlock gasping for breath, John pulled away and started to kiss down his chin and along his jaw.  Licking against the skin right where jaw met neck, he let out a breath and nibbled at the goose bumps that formed in its wake.  Sherlock shuddered and a high pitched whine rumbled up his throat.  John felt the movement through his lips and groaned in reply.  He nudged his nose against Sherlock’s Adam’s apple, causing him to dip his head back and reveal more of his neck for better access.  John ran his teeth on the bump while the hand not supporting his head moved downward.  He let his fingers skim over each dip in Sherlock’s spine, eventually allowing his hand to settle on the top part of the swell of Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock rocked back and forth, pushing up into John’s front and back into his hand.  His hips shimmied briefly to grind his arse into John’s grip, attempting to persuade him down further.  John followed his encouragement and slipped his hand down to cup the curve of his bum in a strong hold.  He flexed his fingers in warning before digging them into the flesh, causing Sherlock to buck into John and whimper.  Moving his mouth back up to kiss him once more, John guided Sherlock back until he was leaning against a nearby wall.  Once his shoulders were supported along it, John’s second hand joined his first and he squeezed Sherlock again.  Sherlock’s reply was to hitch a leg up around John’s waist to bring them even closer together.

Next to them, Cecelia squealed and caused them to break apart, breathing into each other’s mouths.  John ran one of his hands along Sherlock’s leg to grip his thigh at his middle and sighed.

“We should probably let her sleep,” John whispered, his voice hoarse.  Sherlock lowered his leg while nodding, but he kept his fierce grip on John’s jumper.  Pulling him to the door, John fumbled briefly to turn out the light without looking or breaking too far away from Sherlock.  The corner of his mouth cricked up in a wicked grin as he pulled the door shut.  He ran his eyes up and down the full length of Sherlock’s body, pulling him against him to speak directly into his ear.  “Care to move this somewhere more comfortable?”

Without answering, Sherlock took up John’s hands and rushed them down the stairs.  He nearly stumbled on the last few in his effort to pull John back to his lips.  Chuckling and steadying him, John kissed him once more and pulled back quickly to look up into his face.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, his pupils blown wide.  “Take me to bed.”

John wrapped an arm around his neck to get him closer and kissed him deeply, guiding him with a hand on his hip toward their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize for the cliffhanger ending but y'all are about to get roughly 6000 words of smut after this so.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John finally get the opportunity to become intimate and they take advantage. Thoroughly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just sex, btdubs. The following includes fluff, sentiment, emotions, giggling, a bit of scar worship, sensitive nipples, demanding bottom!Sherlock, enthusiastic consent, and a whole lot of fun times all around.

They managed to stumble their way through the flat proper without breaking anything, themselves and the flat included.  Once they reached the sitting room, Sherlock kicked the door closed behind them.  He gasped, all of the breath pushed from his lungs, when John instantly pushed him back against it and crowded up to him.  He nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck before moving up to his ear, licking at the skin directly behind it.  Sherlock threw his head back sharply against the door, one hand grasping at the base of John’s skull and the other scraping for a grip on the wood.  Using the tips of his teeth, John nibbled at the skin, creating an uneven red trail starting at Sherlock’s ear and following along his neck.  When he reached the curve that joined neck to shoulder, he latched his lips down and sucked.  He could feel the whine building in Sherlock’s throat and grinned.

When John pulled away slightly to catch his breath, Sherlock’s feet slid and he shifted down on the door.  His hands scrambled to grab at John’s shoulders and John caught him along his waist, giggling.  His eyes, formerly wide with lust and surprise, narrowed at John.

“Did I just make you weak in the knees?” John asked, his giggles breaking through the question.  Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Shut up and keep kissing me,” he muttered, diving forward for John’s mouth.

John’s giggles shifted into Sherlock’s mouth as they pushed back together, Sherlock’s tongue darting forward in an attempt to swallow them.  The laughter melted into a moan and John’s steadying hands moved to wrap around Sherlock’s back.  While Sherlock was distracted by licking into John’s mouth, John shifted his arms around so that he was cradling his bum once more.  Pulling away and quirking a brow, John bent his knees and hefted Sherlock into his grip.  Sherlock yelped and struggled for a moment before latching his arms around John’s neck and his legs around his waist.  John huffed and grunted, his face mashed into Sherlock’s shoulder, and started to shuffle them towards their bedroom.

“John!” Sherlock gasped, his head darting around in both alarm and arousal.  “What are you – “

“Hold still or I’ll drop you,” John wheezed, knocking momentarily into the hallway wall as he overbalanced.  Sherlock held tight and stiffened, but John could feel him shivering.  He shuffled Sherlock more firmly into his grip and proceeded to almost drop him again when Sherlock’s trapped erection rubbed along his stomach and Sherlock moaned into his neck.  “Jesus, you’re heavy.  This isn’t as easy as it used to be.”

Thankfully the bedroom door was ajar, so John shifted around to shove it the rest of the way open with his back.  He barely made it to the bed before dropping Sherlock on it, causing him to bounce slightly with the force of the movement.  John went to breathe in deeply but it caught in his throat when he looked down at Sherlock

He had fallen sprawled out against the bedspread.  One of his feet dangled over the edge, his opposite leg thrown out sideways to open himself up further.  He had bent one of his knees a bit towards him, but both were spread out to create a wide space between his legs.  He leaned back on his elbows, his head thrown back slightly to reveal his neck.  His curls had become completely unreasonable, falling in every direction in an ideal image of debauchery.  Even though they’d hardly begun, he already looked wrecked, his face a splotchy red, his lips turned deep crimson, and his mouth hanging barely open.  John finally released his breath in a gasp and moved so that he was standing between Sherlock’s sprawled legs, causing Sherlock’s head to fall back farther to look up at him through his lashes.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, grabbing at the back of his head to pull his lips toward him.  Sherlock fumbled to follow him, yanking at John’s shoulders to get him onto the bed with him.  John clamoured to do as he bid, his mouth close to Sherlock’s as he shifted him around and climbed over him.  He pulled the leg that hung over the edge up with him, running his hand with feather light touches along the length of the outside.  He settled it up at Sherlock’s hips after John brought the leg up tight against his side, John’s body caught in the v between them.  He slowly lowered himself until he was lying on top of Sherlock, their groins lining up.

Sherlock pulled out of their kiss and shuddered, thrusting his hips up against John.  Their trousers rustled between them, the fabric impeding their movement but adding friction.  John braced his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head and met his thrusts.  His breath huffed into Sherlock’s ear each time their bodies touched, his groans echoing in Sherlock’s head.  Sherlock twisted to grip at John’s shirt, his hands pushing and shoving to get it off.

“John,” he whined, his bottom half pushing into John’s while his top moved away to yank at clothing.  “John, _off_ , now!”

John forced himself to stop and sit up, his knees bracketing Sherlock’s hips.  He cradled Sherlock’s jaw in both of his hands briefly to place a kiss on his lips, the softest one they had shared so far.  He let his hands move slowly downward, brushing lightly against Sherlock’s collar to slide down to his buttons.  He shifted his suit jacket aside to make his shirt more easily accessible and set to work undoing the buttons purposefully slowly.  Sherlock shimmied in his impatience, attempting to convince John to hurry by throwing his chest up against John’s hands.

John compromised by falling in to kiss and nuzzle at each new patch of skin he revealed.  Before he even had Sherlock’s nipples revealed, his chest was dotted with bright marks, blending in with the flush already blossoming over his skin.  As soon as he could open his shirt enough to get at his nipples, John shifted his attention to them, scraping a nail over the right one to see Sherlock’s reaction.  Sherlock gasped and fell back fully on the mattress.  Instantly the nipple pebbled under John’s touch and the skin around it broke out in goose bumps.  Pleased with the response he elicited, John latched his lips around the nipple and gave it a brief suck.  He was almost bucked off from his spot over Sherlock as he let out a shout and jolted up.  John pulled back and brought Sherlock up into a sitting position, supporting his head and running his fingers through his hair in a smoothing motion.

“Alright?” he asked, his voice gone deep.  Sherlock heaved in breaths, his jacket falling off one of his shoulders and his shirt half gaping open.  It should have looked ridiculous, but on Sherlock it simply increased John’s arousal.

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped.  “Just.  Sensitive.”

John took the opportunity to slide Sherlock’s jacket all the way off.  He nuzzled against his chest, running his nose light enough to tickle along the edge of his open shirt.  Sherlock moved both of his hands up to run through John’s hair, attempting to guide John’s path.  As he shifted down, John finished unbuttoning the shirt.  He abruptly pulled up once they were all open and grabbed the edges to yank Sherlock toward him.  A high pitched squeak followed by a moan came from Sherlock when his chest rubbed against the fabric of John’s own shirt.  John snuck a hand between them to toy with his neglected nipple while pulling him into a deep kiss.

Sherlock whined and pulled back from John’s lips.  Before John could ask, he attacked John’s shirt, yanking fiercely at the jumper until it joined Sherlock’s jacket on the floor.  When he found the t-shirt underneath, he growled.  “Too many clothes,” he mumbled to himself, and within seconds John’s top half was bare.

Spotting the scar that branched across John’s shoulder, Sherlock paused and narrowed in on it.  His eyes flicked between it and John’s eyes, seeking approval to explore further.  John sent him a small nod of encouragement and instantly Sherlock lifted a hand to it.

At first, John could barely feel the touch from how light it was.  Using just the very tips of his first two fingers, Sherlock traced the scar from the inside out, following the veins of ridged tissue out to its edges.  When the movement didn’t cause an immediate reaction of pain or discomfort, Sherlock increased his pressure.  While John could hardly feel the touch on the deadened skin, once Sherlock moved toward the centre with a brief addition of nail John gave a full body shiver.  Sherlock froze instantly, but John shifted his face around to plant a kiss on his neck, which hovered close by.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, nudging him to continue.  “You’re fine, go on.”

Sherlock met his eyes once more and nodded, his face set in focused determination.  He removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth.  Using his lips to keep his teeth covered, he licked around the outside and into the middle of the scar.  John nearly bucked him off from the surprising sensation, but managed to encourage him to continue with a fierce grip on Sherlock’s elbow that rested next to his arm.  Sherlock shifted around and gripped his hand, linking their fingers together, and continued his assault on his shoulder.  Between them, John’s erection jumped in the confines of his jeans.  He attempted to shimmy a hand down to undo his fly without disrupting Sherlock’s focus, but Sherlock felt the movement and broke away slightly to take a breath.

Immediately John dove in to latch back on to his neck, impeding Sherlock’s ability to suck in air.  He instantly grabbed at John’s waist and squirmed to get closer.  While sucking a visible mark into the side of his neck, he trailed his hands down Sherlock’s arm until he abruptly came to the edge of his wand attached to its sheath.  He broke away and toyed with the edge of one of the buckles.  Shooting him a small smirk, he bent down and pulled at each of them, slowly undoing them with his teeth and catching the sheath and wand in his hand.  He licked at the skin where the buckles had been as he tossed both aside, causing Sherlock to chuckle breathlessly and run a hand through John’s hair.

John worked his own wand and sheath off and let them join Sherlock’s.  His eyes darted to Sherlock’s midsection, skittering across the skin but freezing when he spotted the tiny mark in the middle.  His eyebrows furrowed as he straightened, gaze fixed on the scar, and shifted back to sit more fully on Sherlock’s thighs.  He shifted his grip so that he could guide Sherlock into a leaning position on his elbows against the bed.  Once situated the way he wanted, John ran his hands up and down from Sherlock’s chest to his stomach, eventually stopping them at the scar.  He framed it with his thumbs and index fingers, the rest of his fingers splayed out against Sherlock’s skin, and glared down at the mark.

“I’m sorry this happened,” he said quietly, shifting a finger to run softly over it.  “I could have saved you then, if I was carrying my wand, but instead – “

“John,” Sherlock interrupted, changing his weight to one elbow in order to cup John’s face.  “It’s not your fault.  It’s over.”

John shook his head, but his cheek pushed into Sherlock’s touch.  “I can’t…if I hadn’t married her…”  Sherlock stopped his words by pulling him into a sweet kiss, resting their foreheads together to breathe each other’s air in.  John’s forehead furrowed against Sherlock’s and he sighed.  He pulled away and his eyes were shimmering as he looked into Sherlock’s.  “Let me help make the memories better?”

Sherlock nodded and moved back to rest in the position John put him in originally.  John nuzzled his face a final time before shifting down again, focusing in on the scar.  He settled his hands on Sherlock’s hips and leaned in to run his tongue in a circle around the mark.  At Sherlock’s full body shudder, he latched his lips around the former hole and sucked, layering wet kisses over it.  Sherlock tried to arch up into the kisses, but John’s hands kept him still.  John continued to lave at the skin, until he had Sherlock trembling in his grip.  Whining deep in his chest, Sherlock squirmed and clutched a hand at one of John’s shoulders, pushing and pulling John where he wanted him to go.

John eventually sat up to observe his handiwork.  The scar itself had almost completely disappeared in the wake of his kisses, hidden amongst the red marks of his kisses that would likely bruise.  He worried briefly that he had been too harsh, but a glance up at Sherlock’s wrecked face confirmed otherwise.  He reached for Sherlock’s hands, causing his eyes to flutter open and look up at John with almost completely dilated eyes, and pulled him upright again.  When Sherlock looked at him in confusion, John sent him a small smile and prodded for him to turn around.

“This isn’t the only scar I need to worship,” he murmured, situating Sherlock so that he sat between his legs with his back to John’s front.  For a long and quiet moment, John simply stared down at him, taking in the massacred skin.  He had seen the jagged marks a handful of times since Sherlock’s return, but this was the first time he focused on them.  They never talked about how they happened, for both of their preferences, yet John wanted to turn their memories into something more pleasant like what Sherlock had done with his own scar.  He leaned forward to rest his forehead against the back of Sherlock’s neck, his face just close enough for the nape hairs to tickle, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist tightly.  Sherlock raised his arms to rest over John’s, his hands settling on top of his.

John felt Sherlock take a deep breath in, savouring the rise and fall at his stomach that told him he was alive and with him.  Feeling tears start to twinge at his eyes, John snuffled into Sherlock’s neck and raised his head.  He eyed the jagged dashes, long since healed, and let his fingers flex as he shifted them back around to smooth across the marks.  Sherlock tensed briefly, his spine going ramrod straight.  When John began to lightly massage him, starting at his shoulders and neck and gradually moving down to knead the skin under the scars, the stiffness weakened and he pressed back into John.  He sighed and slumped his chin to his chest, a complete giving over of himself to John, and John leaned forward to place a barely there kiss on the topmost scar.  It started close to where the entrance wound was on John’s own shoulder and crossed almost the entire length of Sherlock’s back in a diagonal line of possession.  John followed it with wet lips and soft kisses, covering the longest of the scars with signs of his ownership.  By the time he reached the bottom, Sherlock was quivering in his grip and John pulled him into his chest in a tight hug.

“I love you,” he said, leaning his head around so that he spoke the words directly into his ear.  Sherlock raised his head once more and let it drop back against John’s shoulder.  He turned his face to push it into John’s neck, his tongue peaking out to lick at the skin.  Arching his back so that his arse pushed into John’s groin, John groaned and Sherlock grinned.

“I love you too,” Sherlock replied and ran a hand through John’s hair.  He ground back harder, feeling John’s interested cock push back into his cheeks.  “Now fuck me.”

John huffed out a breathless laugh and shifted his hands, which had been absentmindedly toying with Sherlock’s nipples, down to his waist again.  He danced his fingers along the top of his trousers, dipping a couple of them down to rub the skin directly underneath.  Sherlock shuddered and he took mercy on him, efficiently undoing his belt and pulling it through the loops.  His button and zip soon followed suit and John shoved the edges aside to palm at his pants-clad cock.

Sherlock squirmed in his grip, his head and arse pushing back into John’s shoulder and groin while his cock pushed forward into John’s hand.  He groaned, the noise almost indiscernible from how deep it was, and rolled his head back and forth.

“ _John_ ,” he shuddered, his hands fluttering at his sides.  He grabbed at John’s thighs, his fingers digging fiercely into the sensitive flesh.  John groaned and his head fell against Sherlock’s shoulder opposite where he rested, his hand speeding up where it moved against Sherlock’s cock.  “John, stop _teasing_.”

Breathing deeply, John nodded.  “Right.  Yeah.  Okay.  Flip around and lay down, yeah?”

Sherlock shuffled forward and threw his legs around John while he attempted to turn and pull down his trousers at the same time.  John ducked and just nearly missed being kicked in the face.  He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who grinned up at him sheepishly.  John laughed and leaned down to kiss him, letting Sherlock wrap his arms around his neck.  They lazily snogged, thrusting their hips together in tandem.  When their movements turned feverish, John pulled back to run a hand down Sherlock’s chest to where his trousers sat tangled just below his waist.

Sherlock lifted his hips to help John finish pulling off his trousers, slipping off his socks and shoes as he went.  Down at his feet, John ran his eyes up the length of Sherlock’s body, clad only in his pants.  His cock pushed at the fabric, the tiniest teasing glimpse of the very tip attempting to peek out at the top.  Sherlock’s legs fell open, his thighs tempting John’s gaze up to what lay above them.  John ran his hands up until they reached Sherlock’s knees, pulling them further apart to get at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.  He brushed the fine layer of hair there, light enough to be almost invisible, against its natural settlement.  Without warning, John latched his teeth into the welcoming skin and bit at it, laving at the possessive mark with his tongue seconds after.  The muscles underneath tensed and loosened and John felt a hand on his head, pushing him on in encouragement.  John added a few smaller bites, barely more than scrapings of teeth that shone vivid on skin that was hardly ever exposed to such actions, before moving to give the other thigh matching marks.

John pulled back to survey his handiwork.  The skin of Sherlock’s thighs, once white and bare, had become rosy red and spotted with John’s teeth marks.  Faint nail crescents from where John gripped the tops of his legs to keep Sherlock still were blooming as John watched.  Sherlock’s face, meanwhile, was destroyed, his eyes hovering at half mast and his mouth thrown open in a noiseless gasp.  His fists clutched at the sheets, crumpling the duvet under him, and he flexed them under John’s scrutiny.

“Good?” John asked, wiping at his chin where a bit of spittle had rolled down.  Sherlock’s head jerked up to look down at him, his eyes shooting open in disbelief.

“Good?  Jesus, John, it’s brilliant.  Don’t stop.”

John’s grin was predatory as he sank back down, this time up where the edge of his pants hit his leg.  He gently pushed Sherlock’s leg down to open up the crease and nuzzle into it.  He shifted his mouth to bite Sherlock’s pants, just enough to pull the fabric away and have it snap back against him.  Sherlock shuffled to thrust up into him, letting out a garbled noise when John bit and licked his way up to the edge at his waist.  He looked up at Sherlock through his eyelashes and chuckled into Sherlock’s bellybutton, causing Sherlock to shiver and jolt.

“John, if you don’t take off my pants immediately, I will shove you off and do it myself,” he groaned, rubbing his cock up against John’s collarbone.  Instead of answering, John pressed a kiss into his stomach and started to slide his pants down.  He got as far as settling them at the creases where leg met torso before getting distracted by the cock immediately next to his cheek.  Still grasping the pants, he turned his mouth to lick a line up Sherlock’s cock.  He felt Sherlock quiver and try to stay still as John mouthed at what he could reach, his head cricked to the side to wrap his lips against him.  He ran his mouth up and down the curved edge, taking Sherlock’s momentary distraction to pull his pants the rest of the way down, and came to the sudden realization that he was still in his jeans.  Pulling off from his cock and placing a wet kiss to the tip as he went, John tossed Sherlock’s pants over the edge of the bed and sat up.

Sherlock whimpered sadly and looked up, but he fought to push away John’s hands when he realized what he was doing.  He quickly moved in to unbutton and unzip John’s jeans, shoving them down around his hips and reaching for his pants.  As soon as he got them down enough to reveal a bit of John’s cock, he lurched up and took the tip into his mouth.  The motion distracted John in his attempt to push the material down his legs.  He groaned and moved a hand to rest on Sherlock’s head, twining his fingers in his hair and letting him move however he saw fit.  Unfortunately, the amount of skin and room available interfered and John reluctantly pulled Sherlock off.

“Wait, love, let me just get rid of…”  John’s voice trailed off as he looked down at Sherlock, his eyes locked on John’s cock as he licked his lips.  John rubbed a hand through Sherlock’s hair to scratch at his scalp and reached down to kiss him briefly.  “Jesus, I can’t…I have to…”

Nodding vigorously, Sherlock laid back and helped John lean forward to rid himself of the rest of his clothing.  John moved purposefully slowly to drape himself over Sherlock, savouring each new meeting of bare flesh.  Once his body was sprawled completely across Sherlock’s, they both took a moment to simply feel each other, Sherlock’s arms coming up to wrap around John’s back.  John kissed down Sherlock’s neck, sucking at his shoulder when he reached it, and when he shuffled to get his lips lower, they both gasped at the contact between their cocks.

John’s focus switched to their groins, moving to drag himself against Sherlock in a slow, calculated movement.  Sherlock’s hands scrambled to move from John’s back to his arse, griping it in two tight handfuls to pull him forward into him.  The slickness of their combined pre-cum eased the movements slightly and John felt himself speeding up his motions against his own will.  He shook his head to clear it and placed a hand on Sherlock’s hip to squeeze it and still him.

“Hold on, babe, wait,” he gasped, unable to stop himself from thrusting down a final time.  Sherlock’s breaths came out harsh and loud, but he nodded enormous eyes up at John for him to continue.  “Is this how you want to do it?  Tell me what you need, love, and I’ll do it in a heartbeat.  I just need to know it’s what you want.”

“I need you in me,” Sherlock said, reaching a hand up to wrap around the back of John’s neck.  “Please, John, I need you.”

John ducked down to pull him into a deep kiss, kneading his waist at the same pace he pushed into his mouth.  Sherlock’s second hand moved to cradle John’s skull, pulling his face down to his while arcing his hips into John’s and pushing.  John took the opportunity to shift his grip to Sherlock’s back, his hand settling in the dimples at the base of his spine, and held him up against him.  Making sure that Sherlock’s shoulders were helping brace him, John kissed down his chest, holding his curved back up to ease his way until he reached Sherlock’s waist.  He let one of his hands trail back to his front and gave Sherlock’s cock a single quick tug.  The motion caused him to collapse back down onto the bed, his head thrown out to the side to gasp against the sheets.

“Alright, hold on,” John breathed against Sherlock, shifting his hand out from under his back.  He fumbled over to his side table, yanking out the drawer to search for lube.  Sherlock’s fingers grabbed and released the sheets under him, which had shifted along with the duvet in his struggles.  When John returned holding the lube, Sherlock released them to grab his knees and pull them up and out, opening himself for John.  John had to pause to breathe in deeply at the move before shuffling into position.

John coated his fingers in lube and tossed the bottle to the side as he warmed it as quickly as he could.  Once ready, he brought his index finger down to Sherlock’s exposed cleft, brushing it against the area in an airy, almost nonexistent touch.  Sherlock whined at the barely there feeling and threw his head back, attempting to push himself down onto John by force.  John gave him a final brush to tease him before nudging the tip in.

As soon as Sherlock had something solid to push against, he planted his heels into the mattress and shoved John’s finger the rest of the way in.  John choked on a gasp and searched for his calf, finding and grasping it in a steadying grip.  After he had twisted and thrust it to loosen the muscles a bit, John slid a second in, his fingers leaving marks where he held Sherlock’s leg.  He soon managed three and glanced up at Sherlock’s face for confirmation he was doing well.  His mouth hung open, panting breaths sneaking out between licks to his lips, and his eyes were clenched closed in concentration.  John took the moment of Sherlock’s full focus to feel around and find his prostate, dancing each of his fingertips over it one at a time.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Sherlock shouted, his voice dissolving quickly into a moan.  “Fuck, John, do it already!”

John grinned to himself and pulled away, taking a brief moment to slick his cock.  He situated Sherlock’s legs to his liking, placing his heels against the back of his thighs.  He was about to slide forward when his head shot up in realization.  Releasing Sherlock’s ankle to cup his face, he waiting until his eyes fluttered open and focused on him.

“Should I…”  John gestured at his groin, eyebrows knitted in concern.  “I don’t know if you want me to use a condom or anything.”

“Christ, John, it’s fine, we’re fine, just.”  Sherlock griped his arse and attempted to pull him in by force.  “Would you please, for the love of God, just fuck me?!”

John’s forehead fell onto Sherlock’s chest and he chuckled, nodding.  “Right, okay, good.”  Without another word, he sank completely into Sherlock until he was flush against him.  He froze in place, letting out a slow breath across Sherlock’s chest and running his hand up to rest on his thigh.  Below him, Sherlock was equally still, his own breath caught in his throat.  His hands remained on John’s arse, simply keeping a steady hold to the cheeks and rubbing his thumb along the skin soothingly.  Eventually John raised his head and looked up at Sherlock.  He was staring down at him already and nodded for John to continue without saying a word.

Pulling out gradually, John pushed forward once more with a slowness that was the opposite of his first movement.  Sherlock’s hand followed from John’s arse up to the base of his spine, one remaining there while the other continued on to grip the hair at the back of John’s head.  John started to steadily increase his pace, each thrust coming slightly faster and with more force.  By the fourth thrust, he had shifted himself around enough to land his aim directly into his prostate.  Sherlock’s moan seemed to be continuous and his leg followed his hand to hitch his ankle up around John’s waist.

John hid his grunts in Sherlock’s ear, letting his breathy noises and muttered expletives fall where he could hear.  The only other sound in the room was the slapping of skin against skin.  As he felt himself getting close, john skirted his hand up Sherlock’s side, and down the arm Sherlock had thrown above his head, pulling it down to lace their hands together.  Sherlock’s grip was almost painfully tight and he flexed to silently ask for more when John’s other hand wrapped around Sherlock’s cock.  Sherlock kept him close by bringing his other leg up to lock his ankles at the small of John’s back.  John’s whines increased in pitch at the move and his pace faltered slightly as he felt molten heat radiating between all of the places their bodies touched, centring in at his groin.

“Sherlock,” he huffed, his breath barely enough to speak.  “Please…please tell me…you’re close.”

Sherlock yelped when John dug in hard against his prostate.  Instead of answering, John felt his cock grow larger in his hand before letting out a string of cum without any other warning.  His arse clutched at John’s cock automatically in a crushing hold and John shivered before following suit.  They gasped against each other, words lost and Sherlock’s release between them, and shook in the other’s arms.

When Sherlock’s hand opened slowly and released John’s, John moved in to cup his face and pull him into a light kiss.  Sherlock attempted to respond, but his eyes had shut in pleased exhaustion and he couldn’t do much more than accept what John offered.  John smiled into it and used it as a distraction to slip free of Sherlock.  The squelching noises resounded more than he expected in the quiet and they both froze before bursting into giggles.

“That’s a bit of why I asked if you wanted the condom, actually,” John wheezed into Sherlock’s mouth.  When he sat up to look down at him, the closed eyed, smiling expression that greeted him settled warm in his chest.

“I didn’t...”  Sherlock shook his head as though he was trying to shake out the words.  “I wanted to feel you better.  Aren’t you a wizard and can fix…?”  He gestured at their midsections lazily, cricking one mischievous eye open at John.

John leaned down to steal another kiss, unable to help himself.  “You gorgeous dick,” he said as he pulled away, leaning over the side of the bed with a groan to search for his wand.  Sherlock’s legs fell from his waist to allow him to move, but as soon as he straightened again he tucked his thighs up close to John’s.  One of his knees bent to give him a sprawled position that was accentuated by his outstretched arms and completely disheveled hair.  He cricked his head to the side in a purposefully seductive move and John grinned and shook his head.  “Don’t you look at me in that besotted way, you and your beautiful arse wore me out.  Not to mention you made me do most of the work like the lazy creature you are.  You’re a wizard too, you know; I don’t have to be the only one to clean us up.”

“I’m still a novice, John, I wouldn’t want to hex your cock off.”  He reached up to run a light finger along John’s sensitive cock, causing him to shiver.  “I’m not done with it yet.  Best to let you do it just in case.”

John rolled his eyes and cleaned them with a quick spell.  He tossed the wand back to the floor with a clatter and grabbed the duvet that had been pushed down to the end of the bed.  He brought it with him as he lowered himself back over Sherlock and tucked them both in.  “Well, good, because I’m not done with yours either.  Plenty of time and opportunity to test out your wand skills.”

Sherlock snorted a laugh and snuggled in close.  In minutes, the both of them were sound asleep, John drooling across Sherlock’s chest while Sherlock kept a secure hand cupped against his skull.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James arrives to talk things over with Sherlock to make him understand his situation. Together, Sherlock and Mycroft make a trip to Hogwarts to finally receive an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're finally back. Sorry, y'all, my beta slash former flatmate finally got a full time job (YEAH YOU ADULT) so the process was slowed a bit so that she could move and get herself situated. BUT next chapter is the last which means it's time to finally wrap some shit up.

John would have loved a lie in and to enjoy a lazy morning with Sherlock, but unfortunately they had a baby living in the flat.  Exactly as always, Cecelia started to make noises over the monitor to indicate that she was stirring just as the sun had reached a point to peak through the curtains.  John blinked his eyes open and stared over at it on Sherlock’s side table.  At some point in the night, they had shifted around so that Sherlock was draped across John.  His halo of curls sprawled haphazardly across John’s chest, a line of drool trailing where his heart lay, and he grasped John tight around the middle while one leg lay thrown over his thighs.  Though the position was a bit warmer than John preferred, the knowledge that Sherlock automatically gravitated to him in his sleep made it worthwhile.

Running a hand up to scratch at Sherlock’s scalp, John shuffled down so that their faces were close and placed a kiss on his forehead.  Sherlock grumbled and huffed against his skin, his eyes scrunching closed in irritation.  When he refused to move, John’s hand moved down to the back of his neck to squeeze and rub at it in an attempt to encourage him awake.  His grumbles turned to groans and he rubbed his cheek against John.

“Come on, babe, Cecelia’s calling,” John muttered into Sherlock’s ear.  He tried to peel Sherlock’s arms from around his waist and Sherlock reluctantly moved.  Sighing dramatically, he flopped onto his back and fully freed John.  He lazily scratched at his stomach and sprawled himself across the sheets, peeping open an eye to make sure John was watching him.  When he had his confirmation, he stretched long and slow in a move that was more for show than usefulness.  The duvet, barely still slung around his hips, shifted down at the motion and started to reveal the patch of dark hair hinted just below.

John groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face.  “You love the fact that you’re making this difficult, don’t you?” he asked, flopping down so that his face rested against Sherlock’s stomach.  Sherlock grinned smugly down at him and reached out to pet his head.

“Mm, I do.”  John started to mouth kisses on his stomach and his grip tightened.  Before they could get much further, however, Cecelia shrieked and the monitor crackled with static.  They both winced and John reluctantly pulled away.  He rose to his feet and searched for a pair of pajama bottoms, pulling them on before heading up to Cecelia’s room.  By the time he finished readying Cecelia and brought her downstairs, Sherlock was in the kitchen sitting at the table in his red dressing gown and a pair of pants.  Two mugs of tea sat before him, still steaming, and a warmed bottle and waffle were ready in front of Cecelia’s chair.

“You’re a blessing, you are,” John said, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s head as he passed.  Sherlock hummed and flipped through his mobile, but his smile illustrated his thanks.  Cecelia immediately dug into her waffle as soon as John set her up in her chair and John snatched up his tea as he went in search of his own mobile.

He dug it out from the pile of clothes on the floor from the night before and scrolled through his messages.  He nearly choked on his sip of tea when he read one of them and glanced at the time.  Setting aside his cup to promptly be forgotten, John rushed to toss their dirty clothes into the basket and pull proper ones on himself.

“Best get yourself dressed,” he called to Sherlock as he stopped in the bathroom.  “We’ve got company coming.”

When he emerged, Cecelia held her bottle and Sherlock was placing his empty cup in the sink.  “Company?  Is there a case?”

“Not a case, no,” John replied, placing a kiss on his lips and patting his bum to push him toward the bedroom.  “You’ll see.”

Sherlock raised an intrigued eyebrow at him but did as he was told, returning to the kitchen fully dressed a few minutes later.  Just as he sat back at his seat at the table, John’s mobile buzzed with a message and he shot down the stairs.  Sherlock huffed out a sigh and picked up a neglected piece of waffle from Cecelia’s tray, nibbling at it absentmindedly.  He crumbled off a bit of it and flicked it across the room, causing Cecelia to giggle.  With a sly grin, he rolled the rest of it into a tight ball and placed it on the tabletop.  Just as he was about to flick it across the room with a careful finger, he heard two sets of steps ascending the stairs, accompanied by the scrambling clicks of climbing claws.

“I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re trying to start trouble,” John sighed, but a smile crossed his face as he said it.  “What sort of example are you setting for _Síleas_ , hmm?”

“That’s what we have you for, John,” Sherlock replied, letting the waffle ball fly towards the lower cupboards.  Cecelia shrieked and clapped her amusement while Sherlock turned a grinning face on John.  “You’re the responsible one, remember?”

John shook his head but tilted Sherlock’s face up for a kiss regardless.  “You’re ridiculous and I love it,” he mumbled against his lips before straightening and waving a hand behind him.  “Come see who’s here.”

Sherlock followed him into the sitting room and stopped suddenly at the figure standing there.  Hands in his pockets, one trailing a lead to Thor at his feet, and eyes scanning the room, James Sholto waited for them while rocking back and forth on his toes.  He nodded at Sherlock when he spotted him, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“Major Sholto.  What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked as he came fully into the room.

“James, please.  Given you saved my life and…well, just James is fine.”  He glanced at John, waiting for a sign that he should continue, and lifted the hand without the lead to wave it vaguely.  “John asked me to come, actually.  He thought I might be able to talk to you about everything with Myc – er, your brother.  Help you see it a bit from his point of view.”

“About _Mycroft_?”  Sherlock turned and narrowed his eyes on John.  “What about Mycroft?”

John placed a hand on his bicep and attempted to offer him a reassuring smile.  “Just let him talk, yeah?  For me?”

Sherlock’s forehead scrunched in doubt but he nodded.  Gesturing for James to take John’s usual seat, he moved to his own and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.  “What did you wish to discuss?”

James’ eyes shot to John for the briefest moment before he straightened impossibly further.  “John and Mycroft have both told me a bit about what happened between you two.  I suspect I’m not being given the whole story, but it hardly matters.  They thought I might be able to provide some input about what it’s like on the other side of the problem when you’ve made what you thought was the best choice and it turns sour.  As you’re aware, I’m a bit of an expert when it comes to survivor’s guilt.”

The frown knitting Sherlock’s forehead smoothed into surprise.  He sat back in his chair and folded his hands together, waiting for James to continue.  John decided to leave them to it and returned to the kitchen to see after Cecelia.  He found her pounding her waffle remains into her tray and babbling to herself.  John rolled his eyes and grabbed a tea towel to clean her up before starting on his own breakfast.

John was able to make himself a full English and clean up all of the dishes left in the sink while they were talking.  He scooped Cecelia up and brought her into the sitting room to check on them as soon as he was finished.  Sherlock had moved to stand at one of the windows, staring out of it with his arms crossed.  John glanced at James, concerned that something had happened, but James smiled reassuringly.  He hitched Cecelia higher up on his hip and approached Sherlock to place a hand on his back.  Sherlock jumped and turned, instantly stepping into John’s free side when he realized it was him.  He buried his face into John’s neck and sighed.

“I’m going to have to forgive him,” he muttered into the fabric of John’s shirt.  John barked out a laugh and wrapped an arm around his waist to bring him close.

“Yeah, kind of what I figured.  Glad you saw it our way.”  He glanced at James over Sherlock’s shoulder as he stood and started to move towards the door.  “Is he still downstairs?”

“At Speedy’s, yes,” James replied.  “Should I get him?”

John nodded and James motioned for Thor to stay.  She cocked her head at him briefly in question, but when he patted her head in reassurance she sat positioned where she could watch the stairs.  Cecelia squirmed and attempted to wiggle over towards her, but John steadied his grip on her, much to her dismay.  Sherlock glanced up at John through his lashes, his head barely raised enough to meet John’s eyes.  “You’ve had him stashed away this whole time while James and I have been talking, haven’t you?  Waiting for me to break down so you can bask in your success?”

“More like he came with James and was waiting for him to be finished so we might as well have this out now.”

“I’ll talk to him, but only if I can meet the dog first.”

John chuckled and turned them both around without responding when he heard footsteps coming back up the stairs, Sherlock straightening in his arm.  Mycroft walked behind James, attempting to keep his face blank but looking nervous despite it.  James waited for him at the top and they shared a small smile.

“Oh _God_ , you must be joking,” Sherlock muttered.  John looked up at him, suspecting he knew where this was going but waiting to see Sherlock’s reaction.  “Seriously, Mycroft?  I get John so you decided you need a soldier yourself?  I definitely deserve to meet the dog now.”

James attempted to stifle his laugh in a cough, but John could see his smile behind his hand.  Mycroft, meanwhile, frowned across at Sherlock, his cheeks flushing a very slight red.  “You don’t have the monopoly on relationships, brother dear,” he said stiffly after striding fully into the room.  “Besides, I seem to recall you mentioning once that I ought to find myself a goldfish.”

John and James shared confused raised eyebrows but Sherlock and Mycroft seemed to understand each other.  Sherlock shrugged, John’s arm still at his waist, and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.”You could certainly do far worse,” he said, shooting James a glance.  James took it for the compliment it was and nodded at Sherlock, accepting his approval.  They stood in somewhat awkward silence for a moment, Mycroft hovering near the doorway with James, before Sherlock huffed and lowered his head.  “I…have gained a better understanding of why you did what you did, Mycroft, and it’s.  Fine, I suppose.  I’m sure I would have done far worse if I had been in your position.”

Mycroft tilted his head, contemplating Sherlock while griping tightly at his umbrella.  “Yes, you would have.”

James glanced over at Thor and nodded his head in Sherlock’s direction.  Immediately she trotted over to sit at his feet and looked up at him.  She barely settled before Sherlock knelt down on her level to scratch her neck and accept her kisses.  John, meanwhile, watched them with a smile.  “Right.  Well, Mycroft and I have been in touch with the necessary parties and we think we’ve found out how to settle all of this once and for all, if you’d like.”

Sherlock’s forehead knitted in confusion as he clutched Thor closer, his gaze shifting between Mycroft and John.  “How do you mean?”

Sending James a brief glance, John replied, “We, ah, could take you back to school and…discuss the matter with a former headmaster.”  He stared down at Sherlock, willing him to understand what he was insinuating, and Sherlock’s eyes widened in comprehension.  He gaped over at Mycroft, who remained frozen and watching him.

“You’d be willing to do that?” he asked Mycroft, barely containing his incredulity.  “Despite knowing what we could find out?”

Mycroft nodded once, firm and certain.  “Yes.  If it helps us know what you could have been, of course.”

Sherlock stared at him unblinkingly before coming to a decision.  “Will you come with me?”

Stoicism breaking momentarily, Mycroft’s face softened.  “Of course.”

Determination set in place, Sherlock rose to his feet and turned back to John.  “When can we go?”

John shot James an apologetic grimace.  “Sherlock, we can’t just…James, I’m sorry to be a tit, but could the three of us have a moment?”

“Not a problem,” James replied, and came to take Cecelia from him.  “Let’s go see this nursery of yours your da’s told me so much about, then, my lass.  Thor.”  Perking her ears up, Thor trotted over to retake her place at James’ side.  As they passed to head up the stairs, Mycroft placed a hand on James’ shoulder.  They shared a glance and seconds later the three of them were gone.

As soon as the door clicked closed in the distance, John huffed out a sigh.  “Sherlock, we can’t just pop off to Hogwarts whenever we feel like it.  It’s a Monday at the end of September, there are classes on.  Besides, I’m sure Mycroft’s got to be going off to work at some point.”

“I’m available until mid-afternoon,” Mycroft cut in.  At their questioning silence, he shifted uncomfortably.  “I made sure to free part of my day in order to speak with you.  I also may have set aside a bit of extra should it not go well in order to spend some time with James.”

Sherlock chose to ignore the sentimentality of his words, but John could feel the amusement of seeing his brother this way radiating off of him.  “We might not have a better opportunity than this, John.  Mycroft’s a very busy man, after all.”

Rolling his eyes at the both of them, John threw his hands up in surrender.  “Fine, yes, all right.  Just let me Floo McGonagall to make sure it’s a decent time.”  He uncovered the small pot of Floo powder on the mantle from the books and paper leaning against it and took a small pinch.  Tossing it into the barely there fire Molly and Greg had left the night before, it roared back to life and flashed green.  John shot his head in and yelled, “Minerva McGonagall’s office!”

He blinked through the licking of green flames up at McGonagall, who had spun around in her chair at his arrival.  She appeared completely unsurprised to see him and set her quill aside.  “John.  I was wondering when I might see you.”

“Hello Minerva.”  He grinned up at her.  “We were wondering if now would be a good time to stop over and discuss that thing I’ve been owling you about?”

“Of course.  I’ll open my Floo up to accept yours.”

“Thanks – we’ll be over in just a bit!”  He pulled his head back out and sat on his heels to look around at the other two.  “Right, so we’re doing this now?”

Sherlock nervously fiddled with his fingers and took a step toward him.  “John.  Could Mycroft and I go alone?”

John blinked up at him.  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”  He shot a look at Mycroft to confirm.  “If it’s what both of you want.”  Mycroft gave him a single curt nod of approval and John heaved himself to his feet.  “Okay, probably best anyway if James is here.  Have you ever used Floo before, Mycroft?”  In reply, Mycroft rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, course you have.  Why don’t you go through first to help show Sherlock how it’s done solo?”

Mycroft stepped forward to grab a pinch of John’s Floo.  John checked that James was still upstairs before expanding the fireplace so they could step into it easily.  Tossing the powder into the grate and waiting for it to turn green, Mycroft stepped inside with ease and declared, “Minerva McGonagall’s office!”  In a flash, he was gone.

“So I just have to speak the name of where I’m going?” Sherlock said, leaning down to peer into the fireplace.

“Yep, just make sure it’s very clear and concise, otherwise you might end up somewhere completely different.”  John took up some of the powder and placed it into Sherlock’s hand.  “Don’t freak yourself out, be confident, and you’ve got it.  All right?”

Sherlock glared down at the powder and threw it into the fire without a word.  Squaring his shoulders, he stepped inside and soon followed in Mycroft’s wake.  John watched the flames die down and return to their normal shade.  He patted the mantle and shrunk it down before tucking his wand away and going in search of James and Cecelia.

~~~

Sherlock stumbled out of the fireplace and into McGonagall’s office.  He brushed soot from his suit jacket and glanced around for Mycroft.  He stood down amongst the circle of former headmasters and headmistresses, staring at an empty frame.  McGonagall was nowhere to be found, so Sherlock stepped down to come to Mycroft’s side.  They stood side by side watching as Albus Dumbledore shuffled into his portrait and took his seat.

“Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes,” he said, acknowledging both of them with a nod.  “I assume there is a particular reason as to why I have the pleasure of your visit?”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock and, when he received no acknowledgement from him, began.  “I’ve told Sherlock about the letters I sent you before Sherlock’s eleventh birthday.  We were hoping you might be able to clear up exactly why his letter never arrived.”

Both of Dumbledore’s bushy brows rose in surprise.  “That’s interesting to hear, considering a letter was sent to the Holmes residence on your eleventh birthday, Sherlock.”

Pushing past Mycroft to step closer to the portrait, Sherlock demanded, “What do you mean, a letter was sent?  I never received a letter.”

Dumbledore glanced over Sherlock’s shoulder at Mycroft.  “We had every indication that the letter was delivered, hence no additional response.  Our owls are trained not to give up without successfully giving the recipient its message.  It returned without its letter and did not give the typical signs that we should attempt the deliver again.”

“What could have happened to it?” Mycroft asked, moving forward to stand at Sherlock’s side.  “We never saw an owl and certainly never found any letter.”

“I believe I may have an answer for that,” McGonagall said suddenly from behind them.  In unison, Sherlock and Mycroft turned towards her voice.  She carried an enormous book balanced in her hands that she glanced down at as she approached.  Flipping it around so that they could see it as well, she pointed down a column.  “The owl making the delivery was Winston.  It seems a Sherringford Holmes may have received it instead.”

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head.  “Yes, that would explain it.  Winston’s career as a delivery owl was cut short by a head injury during his travels.  We thought he would be able to continue once he was healed, but his behavior became erratic and unreliable.  I was under the impression no student letters were delivered by him?”

“Apparently that was not the case.  And with it being a rejection letter, we would have been less likely to attempt more than one unless absolutely necessary.”

“So it was a rejection,” Sherlock muttered.  His face remained blank, but his shoulders sunk at the news.  “I wasn’t going to attend Hogwarts regardless.”

“Did my letters have any influence on it?” Mycroft asked.  A hint of childhood uncertainly lay under his question, although he attempted to remain unaffected.  McGonagall snapped the book closed and tucked it under her arm.

“Impossible.  In the unlikely event that a potential student is given a question mark at birth, it is only the quill who can determine whether they may attend.  We ask it a second time, not long before the student’s eleventh birthday, for a confirmation that gives us a yes or no.  We simply relay whatever answer the quill gives.”

Sherlock breathed out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.  “Not a wizard, then.  Not enough to attend Hogwarts, at least.” 

“Obviously that has made no difference,” Dumbledore interjected.  Sherlock frowned up at the portrait and Dumbledore continued.  “Although, as far as we know, the quill has never been wrong before, you still have managed to perform more magic than any Muggle has before.  Regardless of the quill’s beliefs, you have proven that it was incorrect simply in being able to gain a wand and perform magic on your own.  Despite expectations, your skill has forced itself to be known.”

“The quill doesn’t matter,” Mycroft said low so that only Sherlock could hear.  “Your magic defied it and denied it the chance to be less than it should be.  Just as you always have.”

Sherlock stared hard at Mycroft.  He didn’t even blink as he stared back, eventually raising an awkward hand to place it on Sherlock’s shoulder.  At the movement, a corner of Sherlock’s mouth ticked up in a barely there smile.  Mycroft echoed it and squeezed.

“This doesn’t have an effect on Sherlock being able to continue to learn magic, correct?” Mycroft said in a louder voice.  “If he has the ability, he should still be allowed to practice it.”

“Not at all,” McGonagall replied.  “Though considered one of the best wizarding schools, Hogwarts isn’t the only one.  Just because our quill doesn’t consider the magic strong enough for him to attend doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have been invited to another school if he had been given the opportunity.”

“Still a wizard, then,” Mycroft commented with a nod as he turned back to Sherlock.  “Regardless of what a quill wants you to think.”

“I suppose I am,” Sherlock muttered.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, waiting for Mycroft to meet his eyes.  “Thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft blinked a single time before nodding his acknowledgement.  Though he didn’t say anything, his lips quivered in suppressed emotion and eventually he broke out into a smile.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft return to Baker Street with their answer. After a quiet day together, Sherlock shares the discovery with John and comes to terms with it.

They said their goodbyes and offered their thanks to Dumbledore and McGonagall.  The steps leading into the office shifted, alerting them that someone was approaching.  Hastily, the pair moved back to the fireplace and Flooed back to 221b.  Thankfully neither James nor John was in the living room when they passed through, but immediately both Sherlock and Mycroft set out to discover their whereabouts.

“John?” Sherlock called from the stairs, glancing between upstairs and down.  “Where are you?”

Footsteps sounded and Mrs. Hudson’s door swung open, John’s shape forming in the entrance.  “Sherlock?  You two back already?”

Sherlock skipped down to the ground floor, Mycroft following behind more sedately.  James rose to his feet in Mrs. Hudson’s sitting room, gingerly hefting Cecelia out of Mrs. Hudson’s hands.  He shuffled through the kitchen, Thor following behind, to stand next to John and pass Cecelia over.  “Here, best take her.  I’m always afraid I’m going to drop her.”  He turned a crooked smile on Mycroft.  “When did you get back?  We didn’t even hear you go upstairs.”

“Irrelevant,” Sherlock muttered, leaning forward to kiss John and run a hand through Cecelia’s sprinkling of hair.  “We learned what we needed.  Everything’s been settled.”

“Yeah?” John asked, looking intently into his eyes to see if he was telling the truth.  When he found what he was looking for, he grinned.  “Yeah, good.  Excellent.  Right, I’m glad that’s all sorted, then.”

James shifted them aside with an encouraging hand on John’s shoulder, getting past to approach Mycroft.  As he stepped closer, Mycroft straightened his shoulders and smiled up at him.  James didn’t move to touch him, but he settled himself close to Mycroft’s side.  His hands dug deep into his trouser pockets and he returned Mycroft’s smile.

“Well, if all of this sentimental idiocy is over, don’t you have a job to go to, Mycroft?” Sherlock stated.  He was attempting to keep his eyes averted from the two of them standing together at the bottom of the stairs, but John caught the smile fighting its way out.  “Governments to run, plans to deploy, hell to raise?”

“Actually, we’ve a reservation for lunch, so the government will have to wait,” James said, facing John and Sherlock but eyeing Mycroft from the corner of his eye.  “Until then, they can take care of themselves.  I’ve got to make sure this one’s taken care of since he doesn’t see fit to do it himself.”

“Oh God, please stop,” Sherlock groaned, his head falling forward onto John’s chest.  He felt John chuckle through the fabric of his button down and pulled him closer.

“He means he’s happy for you both, really,” John explained.  “Thanks for your help, James.”

“Not at all,” he said as they headed toward the door.  Shifting his attention to Mycroft, he asked, “Is your car on its way?”

“It should be waiting outside,” Mycroft replied.  He went to pull on his coat from where it hung on the hook over his shoulder and James grabbed it in one hand to help.  Mycroft froze for a moment, but quickly relaxed.  James smoothed the material over his shoulders and patted them down, his hand shaking slightly.  In reply, Mycroft placed one of his own over it and squeezed.

Mycroft pulled the door open to reveal his waiting car, holding it open for James and Thor to pass through first.  Before following, he paused halfway through the doorway to look back at Sherlock and John.  “Thank you, to the both of you.  For…all of this.”

Sherlock lifted his head to glare at him.  “You’re welcome.  Now get out.”

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft pulled the door closed behind him.  They waited for the idling car roar to life and drive away before John nuzzled into Sherlock’s hair.  “Want to talk about what you found out?”

Sherlock tucked his head under John’s chin, an awkward move while they were standing and with Cecelia in John’s other arm, but he somehow managed it.  “Not right now.  Can we go for a walk?  The three of us?”

“Just let me grab some things for Cecelia and we’ll be off in a flash.”  He passed Cecelia to him and headed upstairs.  Before he had gone very far, Sherlock leaned in close to Cecelia to mutter in her ear.

“Your dad’s very good, isn’t he?”

“Damn straight he is!” John called down the steps before heading into the flat.  Sherlock rolled his eyes, but a smile forced itself out regardless.

~~~

After an afternoon out enjoying each other’s company and spending time with Cecelia, they returned at dinnertime exhausted but happy.  John kept his questions about the trip to Hogwarts to himself as they made dinner together and got Cecelia ready for bed.  Sherlock left when John sat in the rocking chair to read Cecelia to sleep and John let him without comment.  He assumed that he needed a moment alone and contented himself with a few quiet moments alone with his daughter.

A book and a bit of singing later, Cecelia was fast asleep with her mobile spinning lazily above her.  John crept out in silence and shut the door with a noiseless click.  When he slipped down the stairs, he entered the main part of the flat through the kitchen door, intent on getting himself tea before rejoining Sherlock wherever he was.

As he stepped inside, however, he noticed that all of the lights in the sitting room had been turned off.  Instead, the glow of a newly built up fire cast the room in a vaguely golden glow.  Distracted by what Sherlock could be doing, he left the kitchen without his tea to find him.

Sherlock knelt before the fire, prodding at the logs with the poker.  John spotted an opened bottle of wine on Sherlock’s table next to his chair, a pair of waiting glasses flanking it.  On John’s table, however, was a single osiria rose tilted in towards the chair and fire.  John approached it and took it up, fingering the stem and smiling to himself.  When he looked over at Sherlock, he had shifted around so that he could watch John.  Tilting his head up in invitation, John encouraged him to stand.  Sherlock followed his silent command and came to crowd in John’s space.  While Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck, John pulled him in with an arm around his waist and cradled the rose between them.

“Where’d you find this?” John asked, waving the flower slightly.  “And what’s all this about anyway?”

Sherlock shrugged and fiddled with John’s collar.  “I just wanted to show my appreciation.  For what you did with Mycroft and last night.”

“That good, was I?”  Sherlock rolled his eyes and John grinned widely.  “As for Mycroft, I didn’t want this to be the thing to break you apart.  Despite his flaws, he cares about you and I could tell he regretted what he did.  He’s a good brother, even with what he’s done in the past, and despite some of the shit he’s pulled, he does genuinely love you.  I hated for this to be the thing to turn your relationship into something like I’ve had with Harry since my letter came.”  John twirled the rose and tapped Sherlock in the chest with it.  “And the rose?  I didn’t see you stop off anywhere to get it.”

Sherlock pulled away and beamed, sliding his wand out of his sleeve.  “I didn’t get it anywhere, I made it.  Orchideous osiria!”  Rather than the usual bouquet the spell produced, a single rose sprang from the tip of his wand.  He offered it to John with a shrug.  “I haven’t been able to do it exactly right yet, but I’ve been working on it.  I wanted to learn it since it was one of the first spells you ever showed me, right after you told me about being a wizard.”

“Oh my God, you really are a romantic, aren’t you?”  John cleared his throat to get rid of the lump in it and pulled him forward to kiss him hard.  Sherlock melted into his touch, each of them still holding a rose between them.  John hummed and nibbled at Sherlock’s bottom lip, causing him to groan.  He pulled away to look up into his face, appreciating the pink flush in his cheekbones and his closed eyes.  He waited for Sherlock to blink his eyes open and waved his rose toward the wine.  “We just gonna look at that or actually enjoy it?”

In a few moments, they were sprawled on the floor with their glasses of dark wine, John leaning against his chair and Sherlock resting against his chest between John’s legs.  John took up Sherlock’s free hand in his own and linked them together, palm to smooth back.  He twiddled his thumb against Sherlock’s, rubbing circles against it, and sighed in deep contentment.

“I wasn’t meant to go to Hogwarts,” Sherlock suddenly announced.  John froze in his ministrations for the briefest second before continuing it with a bit more force.  He remained silent while Sherlock recounted what happened at Hogwarts in a quiet voice.  When he finished, he sighed and leaned his head back against John’s shoulder.

“Oh love, I’m so sorry.”  John set aside his wine to run his hand through Sherlock’s hair.  “But Mycroft’s right, you know.  You’re obviously talented, now that you’ve figured out how to get past the mental block.  So it takes a bit more for you to get it to work; it just makes it that much more impressive when you do.”

Sherlock hummed his agreement and pushed into John’s touch.  “Was it also your intention to set my brother and the major up when you concocted your scheme or merely a happy happenstance?”

John barked out a laugh.  “An accident, I swear.  But it’s nice seeing them both happy, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”  Sherlock arched his neck in obvious invitation and John was happy to oblige, trailing a line of kisses down it toward his collar.  “James deserves someone, although Mycroft wouldn’t necessarily be the one I’d think of first.”

“Oh hush, Mycroft isn’t that bad.  I think it’s rather an unconventional but pleasant fit.”  John’s hand ran from Sherlock’s hair down his side, his nose nudging at the junction of his neck and shoulder.  “Care to take this to our bedroom?”

“I’d prefer to keep Mycroft out of our bedroom, John,” he muttered low.  John froze and let go of Sherlock, shifting his head around to stare at him.  He broke out into a fit of giggles and prodded Sherlock in the side, causing him to yelp.

“You cock, I love you,” he managed to say when he caught his breath.  Sherlock stood and pulled him to his feet.

“And you love my cock,” he replied with a mischievous grin.  John pulled him into a quick kiss and started to walk them backwards to their room.

“Ridiculous as you are, I do,” he said against Sherlock’s lips.  He licked his own, his tongue brushing Sherlock’s with the motion.  Sherlock shuddered and pushed John along faster.

“I love you too,” he gasped, following John as he nearly tumbled into their room.  The door closed with a click, leaving their wine and roses to sit in peaceful silence before the slowly dying fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyssss this is the end! It's been such a fun run with y'all, but the conclusion of a long fic is always both exhilarating and depressing. But good news, I have plans for at least three one shots in this universe (two that take place prior to the series and one set not long after Dissendium) and I'll once again be using November of (hopefully) this year to write the next story in the series, Prior Incantato! Until then, you can always find me on tumblr at futureofthemasses, and I hope you enjoyed. :)


End file.
